


The Dual Nature of Light

by d6dreams



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jae is everyone's best friend, Sungjin is a Soft!Boy Sweetheart, and by romance I mean happy endings are mandatory because real life sucks, mentions of anxiety attacks, might be triggering: re depression and anxiety, some depictions of very very sad, this is a contemporary romance au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 90,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d6dreams/pseuds/d6dreams
Summary: In which Sungjin is like the sun, whose light can shatter glass and shine on even the darkest of hearts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever DAY6 fic originally posted on AFF. Will be doing some minor edits and fixing of things (nothing major). Decided to cross-post here for...science. Anyway. Here it is. Please love me. I'm fragile.

Here’s a question from the live comments feed:

 

anon1343: On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the most pain you can ever imagine, how would you rate your pain?

 

My listeners are trolling me. I’m sure of it. But after a series of unfortunate events that may or may not include being intentionally offensive as a defense mechanism, I promised myself, our station program director, and the associate dean for student affairs I’d behave from now on.

So even if I have at the tip of my tongue the Snarkiest Comeback of Contemporary Times, I reluctantly shove the thought away in an effort to keep my job at the campus radio station. Granted, it’s volunteer work. But work is work, and I sincerely believe that volunteer work can be much more rewarding than paid work in most cases. The tradeoff here for not getting paid is that whatever I accomplish in college radio is fully credited in my program. So I need this job. Unfortunately.

My reply is brief, but truthful. “I’d say it’s a three.”

“Lies,” says my cohost Jae. I’d say he looks like he just woke up from a nap or is in dire need of one because it’s four in the morning and we’ve been up since noon, but that’s just how he looks like at any given time. “That is at least a solid seven.”

For the past fifteen minutes, Jae and I have been playing a vicious round of Rock-Paper-Scissors in a misguided attempt to amuse ourselves and our online viewers. All seventeen of them. The loser gets flicked on the forehead and the winner gets to pick the next playlist. Long story short, I lost three out of five rounds, and Jae gets his minute of gloating and an hour of his favorite British Alternative Rock. That leaves us another hour to make stuff up and our shift’s over. The sun shall rise, and our next moment of glory will have to wait until our next midnight together.  
Four semesters plus summers in between, and it hasn’t occurred to any of us on the graveyard shift to come up with an actual program to stick to. According to our show producer Eric Nam, we’re running on a freeform format so whatever goes. This usually means we get to do whatever we want, play whatever music we want, and say whatever we want however we want to from twelve midnight to six in the morning. Only the truly nocturnal, the crammers, and the disturbed are up at our hours.

After School Sweg, (formerly known as After School Club) the only no-holds-barred English-language program on Campus Radio, is run by five of us on rotation duos. Most of us foreign-grown but back-on-home-soil kids missing life on the other side of the planet. Five nights a week, we talk about random stuff interspersed between our choice of music, what’s hot in the indie scene, and who’s who in the rising luminaries of university based talents. Sometimes, we play juvenile games like these. At ungodly hours of the morning, you do what you need to do to maintain your sanity.

Jae and I “inherited” the time slot from Kevin Wu after he graduated. I hadn’t intended to do radio—or join any organization—at all, but my program at the College of Music requires me to do campus service hours. Jae was aggressively handing out fliers during Freshman Orientation Week, and he wouldn’t stop badgering me until I took one. And I thought he was cute. You would too, at first glance. He wears the most pretentious and ridiculously large thick square-rimmed glasses that hides his tiny eyes and drowns half of his tiny face, and together with his extensive hoodie collection and the fact that he sings pretty good and he’s not bad at guitar, you have the recipe for Cute Boy. But then you get to know him, and then he’s just Jae.

  
In any case, none of the other organizations had causes I particularly cared about. Like what in the actual flying frick is a Sunflower Club? I was also fairly certain that most orgs were just fronts for some real shady business, so I showed up at the station the following morning and filled out the volunteer application form.

  
I’ve regretted my life since.

  
Out of desperation, we’ve recruited in a few others to join the debauchery: Fresh baby but can actually kill you, Jamie Park; foreign sounding but never been further than Ilsan “Rap Monster” Kim Namjoon; and fencing scholarship kid Hong Kong national Jackson Wang. We’re like a co-ed pop group, if you want to think of it that way. Or even a band. Jamie is our cute diabolical savage maknae in charge of mood-making; our frontman and lead vocals and sometimes rhythm guitar. Jackson is our loud and wild—the only reason we keep him around, he keeps us and the listeners all awake—center visual; the drums. Philosophical Bullshit Rap Monster Kim Namjoon is our pretend-leader in charge of being responsible when we have to (and the bringer of deep conversation starters at three a.m); he’ll be soulful keyboards. Jae is Jae, who is best as being Jae; lead guitar with solos in every song. And then there’s me. I’m the one in the back making everyone else look good. I’d be on bass. Subtle.

  
Tonight, it was just me and Jae, the red On-Air light and the soundboard between us.

“So remember my bandmate Bob?” Jae asks after he’s put on his playlist and switched off the mic. We’re off the live-broadcast, but the comments section is still running. Not that it mattered. No one was chatting. Headphones off, he leans so far back on the swivel chair I expect him to fall over any minute now. But I’m not that lucky, and he just puts his feet up on the opposite desk.  
Let’s talk about Jae Park for a moment. Jae is my senior. He’s a full two years older than I am, but because he took a gap year before his first semester, and he went on leave for a year to tour with that nationwide singing competition he was kicked out of six weeks in, he’s still here. A senior, technically, but still overstaying his degree in the Liberal Arts program. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.

Pulling my headphones off, I answer, “Jae, two people does not a proper band make.”

“Irrelevant.” He steeples his abnormally long fingers together. Jae’s band, I don’t even know what they’re called, used to have three members. But alas, some of us are destined to be useful members of society and his pianist left to be an accountant. Now it’s just him on guitar and Bob on cajon on their street-busking pub-crawling adventures. Alleged adventures. I refuse to see them live. On principle.

“The point is,” he continues, “Bob, my friend, my brother from another mother Bob, has been depressed for, like, three months now and it’s frankly depressing. It’s not funny anymore.”

I’ve been witness to this Bob Sob Story since day one. According to Jae, Bob has been seriously dating this lovely girl for about eight months until she asked for a time-out or a cool-off or whatever, and Bob agreed because he’s that kind of Good Guy and it’s not like he had a say on the matter. Anyway, Bob and Girlfriend go their temporary separate ways. Sad life for Bob, but he remained hopeful. Until a few days later, lo and behold, Bob takes the train on his way to wherever and right there across him, he finds his lady love in the arms of another. Congratulations. They’ve officially broke up. It’s been two months, three weeks, and four days since then. Jae’s kept count. We have it on our desk calendar and everything.

“You want to ask our seventeen—fourteen listeners for dating and/or moving on advice for Bob?”

“Better than that, my friend,” he answers. “You’ve been single for God knows how long. Why don’t _you_ date him?”

I scowl at him. “No.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, Jae. I refuse to come in contact with any of your kind.” Least of all dudes named Bob. Say what you will of me, but the name Bob doesn't exactly inspire in me visions of a dude I’d like to bang someday. Bob sounds like my uncle. Or that uncle you know. Bob is just not a sexy name. “The fact that he’s associated with you puts him on my Do Not Touch With A Ten Foot Pole blacklist.”

“You wound me, Kitty Kat. Bob is a perfectly decent gentleman.”

Kitty Katastrophe. That's me on air. And Jae is Chicken Lethal. We’re an assortment of domesticated animals on a mission of mass destruction. “ _You_ date him, then.”

“I would, but he likes girls. Sadly, so do I. At least half the time, I think.”

“Tough market to be in, my friend.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“No, Jae. Not only is that an insult to me as a human being, it is also an insult to Bob’s human beingness and his capacity to find a date on his own. He’ll start dating someone when he’s ready. Or when he finds a girl he likes enough to do something about.”

“Dude, Brian said the exact same thing.” Brian Kang is Jae’s low-key genius pre-med roommate from Canada. I’ve been getting Jae to bring him in to join our show, but Jae says Brian is too good for us. Jae’s probably right.

  
(Anyway, back to my previous point. I refuse to come into contact with Jae’s people. Brian seems like a cool guy and all, but he’s lived with Jae since freshman year. You don’t survive and coexist with Jae without a certain weird factor of your own. I like my idea of Brian Kang. No need for reality to distrupt my perfect fantasy.)

Silence descends upon the control room for the next minute. We’re wrapped in the stillness of the air, the crackles of the static from the audio equipment, and the buzz from the sounds that escape our headphones. Studio J is tiny. Cozy. All the downtime we spend together, that’s not for nothing.

“I’m glad you're back, Kitty Kat,” Jae says all of a sudden as he’s reaching behind him for the station’s acoustic guitar. Someone left it years ago and no one’s come back for it. Sad. “I missed you.”

“Me, too,” I quietly reply. “About the first part. The second, not really.”

“More lies,” Jae hums as he strums a B-minor. It’s a bit off tune, and Jae adjusts the pegs. “I know you know I know you love me. Don’t deny it. I promise not to tell the others you like me best.”

“Do I, really?”

Over the winter break, I considered quitting college radio after the last incident got me an appointment at the associate dean’s office. But I wasn’t given that option. Even Eric thought it would be too harsh to leave the station when it was clear even to him that I have no life and college radio is my only avenue to interact with my people. Or any people, for that matter. Instead, I got off with a warning and, given my latest evaluation, weekly sessions for the whole of the first semester with Dr. Choi at the counsellor’s office.

It wasn’t just the incident on-air, where I cussed and verbally threatened the life bar out of this creep who kept calling and sending weird messages to Jamie, that lead to the decision. By then, I had accumulated a list of tardies, missed shifts and classes, and grades that lit up the panic buttons on my program adviser’s sound board. Then I had a meltdown. And when you melt down in front of your adviser and your show producer, you get advised to take a few weeks off. A mental health break, in other words.

I may have mentioned, in one of those thee a.m drinking sessions with the ASS crew (yes, Jae changed the name to get that acronym), that I might not make a comeback. Five of us were sprawled out on the lounge, Jae and Jamie on the decade-old stained sofa and the rest of us on the floor, nursing cans of beer in our hands. That was the end of the academic year, and we were all recovering from post-Finals trauma. They seemed to be understanding of my crisis, if perhaps surprised that there existed a crisis at all. Naturally, they didn’t think leaving was the answer.

I remember, as if I could find within the shelves the answers to my questions, staring into the depths of the record library looking for a breakthrough. Racks upon racks of music history, reel-to-reels, vinyls, tape decks, CDs, and a graveyard for inoperable turntables—I fell in love with all this. It’s why I came back. College is hard enough. When you find somewhere you finally fit in, you stay for what it’s worth.

  
This afternoon, I woke up, showed up, and now here I am.

An hour passes by in relative silence. Some days, we take turns taking naps, but tonight we sat together, comfortable in each other’s presence. Jae, on his phone, posting pictures of our wild night and sending endless messages to his housemates who would wake up to a dozen pointless messages. Me on my tablet, reading.

When Jae’s playlist runs out, I put on Jackson’s playlist of Top 40 hits for our daily dose of irony. Jae sings along to every girl group’s latest bubblegum track while I pretend to be a music snob. Secretly, I enjoyed the next pop song as much as the next person. What I don’t get is why you have to put the same five songs over and over again on airplay when there are all these choices under your fingertips. Okay, so I do get it. But that’s besides the point. At exactly 5:30 a.m., the morning crew comes in with their coffee and their muffins, and Jae and I prepare to sign off.

“That’s it for us on the After School Sweg show, folks. This has been Kitty Katastrophe—“

“—and Chicken Lethal, live from Studio J.”

“And just like that, a fresh new Spring semester officially begins. Welcome to University fresh babies, and welcome back you old people. And if you’re graduating this year, good on you. Make good choices, kids.”

Jae puts on the morning roll call and we’re out. Grabbing my trusty baseball cap, I pull it down low over my eyes. Then I lift the hood of my grey hoodie over my cap, put on another jacket, and shrug on my backpack. “You wanna get breakfast?”

“Nah, dude. I’m falling asleep as it is. I’m going home.”

“Loser. See you tonight.”

“Excuse you, we happen to be the coolest people on this campus.”

“Of course we are. Bring pizza, I’ll bring the soda.”

I wave goodbye, and Jae and I walk our separate ways. Both of us lived off campus, on opposite sides of the neighborhood. The University was located right in the heart of the city so in-house residences were reserved for foreign exchange students and freshmen. But because we were right in the middle of everything, the neighborhood is distinctly a university community with apartment complexes and dormitories all around. Fourth Ave. is an easy favourite haunt for students. The whole avenue is open 24-hours with convenience stores, study cafes, themed-cafes, and regular cafes all for your patronage. Someone must have put up a memo, because everything you could possibly ever want or need is in this complex.

You could come out at 2 a.m. and find another lost soul wandering the streets or occupying the good seats somewhere while they contemplated the meaning of the universe. I’ve done it before. I have perfect strangers I consider good friends if only for the amount of time we unintentionally spend together sitting in a convenience store.

Anxiety hits me, and I swallow it back.

No more creepy convenience store hangouts for me. I need to be around people, so says that article I was reading. Switching my People Mode to the On position, I walk into Khunfections fully intent on socializing with whoever’s on register. While it might be relevant to note that being on the graveyard shift for just about my entire DJ-ing career put me in close acquaintanceship with every other person working the same hours around here, that’s totally not the point.

“It’s light out, is the world coming to an end?”

Relief washes over me as soon as I recognize the voice. Without looking up at Im Jaebum, I flip him off and deposit my bag on the long table across the register. With people I’m comfortable with, I take off my cap and remove my jacket and set them aside next to my things. “Good morning to you, too. Since when do you take nights?”

“Since winter break. They pay us better nights, did you know? Work hard, play hard,” Jinyoung answers. “We’re doing afternoons again starting next week. You won’t miss us at all.”

Im Jaebum and Park Jinyoung have been part-timing at Khunfections for far longer than what should be deemed acceptable. Personally, I don’t consider it a bad thing per se. Jinyoung is the friendly type and talks to everybody—bad news the first few times I came here. He kept attempting small talk, and I kept trying to avoid making eye contact. But one night Jae and I got rained in, and because there was nowhere else to go and all that time to kill, we ended up making two new friends.

“I have class in two hours. I need to be alive.” A lie. I’m meeting with Dr. Choi at the counsellor’s office this morning.

“Take a nap,” Jaebum says, but he’s already running the espresso machine for a drink I don’t have to order out loud. Or pay for, I hope. “When did you come back? They said you went home for Christmas.”

By home, it could either mean Busan where my family is originally from, or Boston where the entire two generations of my immediate family currently is. I’ve been to neither, these past three years. The official cover story is that I was visiting my parents over the winter break. The truth is, I’ve just been unable to leave my room for the past two months.

“I came in this morning.”

“Then you went straight to the station?” asks Jinyoung.

Nice to know we have listeners after all. “Yes, indeed. That is dedication my friends.”

“And you say we need a life,” Jaebum says. He delivers a steaming hot latte to my table. “This is for you. Welcome back.”

I thank them both and retreat to my spot. Mornings are especially busy, even on the first day back and soon enough Khunfections is a standing room only gig with a line that reaches the door. After a while, you get pretty good at picking out the freshmen from everybody else. They’re always the awkward kids who look like they spent too much time picking out what to wear that morning. The sophomores had this smug look about them, like the boy who sat next to me, wearing earbuds and bobbing his head to hip-hop music. I could hear the beats along with the creaking of the tables as people came and went about. The girl across him was probably a junior, what with that crazed look on her face. I would ignore her, but she keeps flipping her hair over her shoulder, and that just makes her floral perfume stand out more. Having them around me like this makes me feel cornered and out of breath.

I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. The plan is to strategize for my appointment with Dr. Choi. After downloading a list of expected questions, I prepare normal-sounding answers to them in my head. But because I’m afraid I might forget, I scribble them down on my phone’s note-taking app. This is how he finds me.

“Hi?”

I feel a panicky jump in my stomach then look up. There’s a dude talking to me. Tall, and solid, and tan. I’m startled by the kindest eyes I have ever seen. Kind, dark eyes with flecks of light. Dark eyes don’t do that, do they? They don’t normally or naturally come with their own internal light source. Dude runs his fingers through his floppy hair, but that only does so much and his hair stubbornly falls right back over his forehead. The next thing I notice is his nose, then his lips. Then he’s smiling at me so brightly I look away before I’m blinded by it.

Okay, what do normal people do in a situation like this? I look around and everywhere else is full. This makes sense now. “Uh, hi? You can take a seat.”

In fact, he could even take my seat. I could leave now. I would be thirty minutes early for my appointment, but I could wait for office hours by the lobby. No, that won’t do. That would make me appear overly eager or anxious. I’d wait down the block.

“Thanks,” he says. “Thanks for doing this. I’m Sungjin, by the way.”

It’s just a seat, I want to say. We don’t have to introduce ourselves or make small talk. But I don’t say that out loud. I just nod.

Sungjin scratches the back of his ear. I count three piercings on his left earlobe plus a helix. “I don’t really do this,” he continues. “But I guess, when you really think about it, what’s the worst that can happen, right? So I figured, I might as well give it a shot.”

I don’t answer that. I have my cup to my lips anyway, what does he expect from me?

“Also, I thought it’s a little weird because who sets up a blind date for eight in the morning? But actually this is better for me. And now that I think about it, people should probably do it more often.”

Between Sungjin running his fingers through his hair every fifteen seconds and me finding more ways to keep my mouth occupied so I don’t have to talk, I almost miss out on what he just said.

A trickle of coffee runs down my chin, and I swipe at it with my sweater paws. As if I couldn’t get more embarrassing, I start to choke on the words I’m supposed to say.

He hands me a napkin. “Are you okay?”

“Hot.” Sungjin lifts an amused brow. I nearly choke on my tongue again. “The coffee.”

“I didn’t get your name?”

The universe is kind, and Sungjin gets distracted by his phone buzzing loudly from somewhere inside a pocket. “Hey, you’re up. Oh, you just got back? Yeah, no I’m here. Your friend’s here, too. What do you mean what am I talking about? What are you talking about? You’re the one who set me up? Uh, no. I’m pretty sure your message said eight a.m.—Wait, what? Oh…crap.” Sungjin’s eyes flit towards me, apologetic but also unabashedly entertained by all this. “You’re not my date, are you?”

Nope. I grab my things and go.

On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the most embarrassment you can ever imagine, how would you rate your shame?

Right now? I’d say it's a solid seven.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking to the counsellor’s office, I can’t help but feel like a freshman again. Partially because three years in and I still don’t know where the guidance office is. Until I was forced to actually visit, I didn’t even know the university had a functional counsellor. But I like walking. In the mornings, not so much. The rolling green lawns in between the mixed-and-matched old and modern buildings are always filled with students with their backpacks forever in a hurry. Every one of them so purposeful with every step, you’ll see me and it’s obvious I have no idea what I’m doing here. 

The irony is, all I can think of at this moment is that if I were in a music video, the setting would be perfect for an upbeat indie-rock track. Something Jae would play on guitar when he knows he has an audience. A song that, despite yourself, compels you to dance.

I make it ten minutes early to the student services building and follow the map to Dr. Choi’s office on the third floor. When I get there, I tell the student assistant working the front desk  my name and she gives me a look that says it’s too early in the morning for conversation. After she’s checked the schedule, she wordlessly directs me to the empty seats lining the hall. I pick up a copy of the university paper and leaf through last semester’s headlines until my name is called.

I knock twice on Dr. Choi’s door before twisting the knob open. In my head, I pictured an office like you see in the movies or on TV—heavy wood furnishings, wall-to-wall bookshelves filled with textbooks and biographies, and a comfortable couch where I’m supposed to lie down and get asked to talk about my life and answer questions like “So how do you feel about that?” What I get instead is a simple office with beige walls, a wide desk, and two comfortable seats across it.

Dr. Choi is a matronly lady who looks like she’s only in her forties, but something about her short curly hair and powder blue blazer makes me think she’s older than that. Her eyes twinkle at me from behind her wire-framed spectacles, and she waves her wrinkled hand towards a chair. “Have a seat,” she says. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I sit down as I’m told but I don’t remove my jacket. Suddenly, the room feels smaller. Overcrowded. I stare at the diplomas and certificates on the walls. They’re up there to assure you you’re in good hands, that your doctor knows what she’s doing, but all I feel is a heavy sense of apprehension and dread. Especially when she begins reading my file.

“How are you doing this morning?” she asks. What was it about therapists—not that I had experience with them at all—that made them sound so creepy all the time? So _calm_ and _soothing_. So devoid of the normal range of vocal high-frequencies.

I drop my gaze to my knees. “I’m fine.”

“Do you understand why the associate dean recommended that you come and see me?”

I really don’t. Coming here like this is almost like admitting there’s something wrong with me. I’m fine. Peachy, in fact. I’m not any worse than any other student in college. We’re all drowning in schoolwork, not getting enough sleep, and living off takeout food and instant ramyun. Everyone’s depressed. It’s not a big deal. Me being here is a waste of department resources. If they really want to help someone out, they should probably look into that kid who tried to jump off the fifth floor of the science complex. Or that other guy who walks around campus with a Free Hugs sign hanging down his neck. Or that weird bowler hat girl with violet hair. If they really want to help me, they should just let me graduate with a clean record.

I choose my words carefully. “He thinks I have problems?”

“And what do you think?”

“I think he’s overreacting.”

“Do you think that’s reasonable?”

“This is about the broadcast thing, isn’t it? I was just helping out a friend get rid of a creepy stalker guy. Technically, we’re allowed to swear on radio after midnight and we had, like, thirteen people online. It’s not like we’re even in actual trouble. Maybe you should talk to the creep instead? He’s the one who reported me anyway.”

She writes something down on her notepad. “It’s okay if you’re nervous, that’s perfectly normal. You’re not in trouble. We’re just here to talk. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Dr. Choi asks, folding her arms on the desk. “That seems like a good start.”

I shrug. What do I have to do to get this hour over with? “There really isn’t anything to talk about? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Dr. Choi gently smiles at me. “There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with you. We could just talk. Is there anything that’s been troubling you lately?”

Right. As if I would tell a complete stranger the story of my life. “Not really. It’s only a few hours into the semester, no homework yet.”

“What about the past semester?”

“Not that I can think of, no.” 

She scribbles more stuff in her notes. Even if I lean forward, the table is too wide and the counsellor’s penmanship is too small for me to read what she’s writing. She’s probably saying things like _denial_ or _passive-aggressive_ or something. All of it untrue.

“It doesn’t have to be a crisis,” she continues. “It could be anything. What’s going on in your life, what have you been up to lately. Simple things such as those.”

“Just…normal stuff? Nothing really happens in my life. ”

“Is there a reason why?”

I shake my head.

Dr. Choi just smiles placidly to herself. “I can tell this is uncomfortable for you. But I assure you, you’re free to speak freely and bluntly about whatever comes to mind.”

This is getting ridiculous. “There really isn’t anything.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been on break from the radio.”

“I was.”

“Are you excited to go back?”

“I just came from there, actually.”

“What’s it like, being in radio again after the break?”

“Like I never even left? Seriously, there’s nothing to talk about. I’ve been on break from the radio before too. Can you just please tell me what this is about? It’s not like I’m here because I want to. Or because I think I need to.”

Dr. Choi adjusts her glasses. “Your program adviser has noticed a dip in your grades last semester. He’s under the impression that your grades and your output is not an accurate reflection of your potential. He says your performance in music labs have always been exceptional, but your submitted work does not reflect that. If you’ve submitted work at all. He’s worried you might be going through difficulties.”

“I’m not going through anything. I guess I’m just not as good as he likes to think I am.”

“You guess? Do you think the way you’ve been participating in class is equivalent to your grades on paper?”

I wish I could say that my talents can’t be graded on paper, but sadly I don’t have that excuse now. It’s not like I’m forced to take math or science or any other subject I suck more at than what I’m doing now. “I'm not failing my classes.” Technically, I wasn’t. I barely held on to the passing marks by my fingernails. “Am I in trouble here? Is there really a reason for me to be here? At all?”

Dr. Choi carefully closes her notepad and lays it to the side of her table and then folds her hands on her desk. Every action feels so deliberate, I can feel the air stirring around her. “You’re not in trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. Your adviser and your show producer are simply worried about you.”

“There’s no reason for that,” I snap. “I’m fine. We really don’t need to do this. Can I please go now?”

“Yes,” she finally says. “You can leave if you wish. I’ll see you again next week.”

I highly doubt that. I get up, awkwardly make my leave as respectfully as I can manage, and walk out the door. By the time I get back to the apartment, my roommates have already left for work—both of them fresh graduates turned glorified slaves to corporate executives—and won't be back until late tonight. With the place empty, I head straight for my bed and pass out.

 

***

 

I make it to Music Tech ten minutes early and immediately search the room for a familiar face. Wonpil, all smiles and sunshine, raises his hand and gestures for me to take the seat next to him somewhere in the middle of the room. I’ve known Wonpil since we were kids; we were classmates halfway through elementary and music school. His parents owned a Piano academy, and his mom was my music teacher for pretty much the entirety of my early musical career.

“I take it you’ve successfully tested out of the Intro to Music Tech class?” I ask him even before my butt touches the seat.

Kim Wonpil is some sort of musical genius. As a kid, he was intent on a classical piano career, but some time in between the last time I saw him and that summer of freshman year he really got into electronic music and synths. We spend and entire summer of afternoons stalking buskers around the university area. If we weren’t considered friends before, then we definitely became friends after that day. We spent weekends hanging around the park square imagining we’d perform for an audience one day too. Not necessarily as a duo, but I liked to think that even though we never said it out loud, we were thinking the same thing. 

Now he’s a production and engineering major _and_ a composition major. Nevermind that he can also sing with the voice of some angel. Meanwhile, I’m in a degree program I only took to delay the inevitable.

He grins. “Successfully. Do we have any other classes together?”

I shrug. “What else are you taking?”

If I had slightly any less pride, I would’ve asked him before we registered for the semester. Maybe I should have. For the most part, Wonpil and I would be taking the same classes from now on. That’s one more thing I’m not sure if I should or shouldn’t look forward to. Wonpil is the type to talk about everything, sit together for lunch, and walk together to places.

“I have synth lab and a bunch of songwriting classes.”

“Is that the synth lab taught by Lee Woomin? I’m taking that class, too.”

“Yeah, that’s the one! Let’s pair up for the final project?”

“I don’t want to pair up with you,” I tease. 

Wonpil pouts and whines. “Why not?”

“What if I find a really cute guy in class? I’d rather pair up with him.”

He drops an eyebrow. “Can you even talk to him first?”

“I might. I could. Maybe I do that now?”

He laughs. Like Jae, Wonpil already knows too much. “Okay. We’ll see.”

Speaking of cute guys. “Something really weird happened to me this morning.”

Maybe Dr. Choi was on to something. If I could just talk to someone, maybe I’d feel a little less imprisoned by…by what exactly? Wonpil would be a good candidate for conversation. We have history. We’ve known each other forever, perhaps peripherally for the most part of our schooling, but we’ve made progress since meeting again that summer in high school. 

“Weird how?” he asks.

Before I could answer, however, a middle-aged man in a weird beret walks into the lecture room. Wonpil and I turn to the front and pick up our pens.

 

***

 

After class, I say goodbye to Wonpil and head straight to the station with two extra large bottles of orange soda. Jae is already splayed out on the couch, his feet dangling off the edge.

“Kitty Kat, Kitty Kat,” he says with a grin. “Whatchu got there?”

“Are you ever going to call me by my name?” I answer. “And where’s my pizza?”

“It’s on the way, your highness,” he shoots back. “And I like Kitty Kat. I think it suits you better than—“

“I hear pizza!” That would be Jackson, his entrance more of a production than it should be, what with his gym bag and fencing equipment getting caught in the door jamb. “Are we having a party?”

Jackson is always too loud and takes too much space. Figurative space. First of all the station wasn’t really small, but it seemed that way with all the junk that accumulated over the years. The live room had enough space for the five of us and maybe a guest or two. Outside, the couch already took all the free space on that side, and Jackson took up everything else.

“Technically this a meeting,” says Jae, making just the tiniest space for me on the couch. “We’re supposed to talk about the year’s activities and whatever. And that thing we’re supposed to do for O week.”

“Can’t we just leave a flier on the bulletin board?” Jackson asks, spreading out on the floor.

The door opens again, and in comes Jamie. “No, genius. We’re supposed to make fresh babies _want_ to join our team.” She squeezes in with me and Jae on the couch. “Bro,” she says to me, “you’re finally back. I missed you.”

“Nobody ever misses me,” Jackson says, earning him a look and a roll of the eyes from Jamie.

Namjoon comes in a minute later, letting in the pizza delivery guy with him. He’s already chatted him up and all that, introducing him to us like he’s an old friend. Says his name is Kihyun or something.

“Let’s just do what we did last year,” Namjoon says, after two slices of pizza. Jackson, being on a strict diet, looks longingly at the box of temptation set before him. So far, his resolve has been admirable. I really want to support him, but pizza is life.

“You mean aggressively hand out fliers to everyone who passes by?” I say. We did that last year, put Jae in front, where he fits best, and have him hand out fliers and talk to people and do everything short of freaking them out completely. It was hilarious.

“Yeah and all we got is Jamie,” says Jae. “We need fresh blood.”

Jamie snorts. “We need to make radio a thing again, is what we need.”

Namjoon nods solemnly. “How do we make radio relevant in the age of the internet?”

“Internet radio!” Jackson, ever enthusiastic, offers. “Wait, we’re already doing that.”

“We need guest appearances.” Jae’s voice is muffled from behind me and Jamie. “Who’s the coolest people, besides us, that we can get on our show?”

“Great, we actually have homework now,” Jamie mutters under her breath. Out loud, she says, “I’ll figure something out. Okay, what else do we need to talk about?”

For the next ninety minutes, we concoct a plan for Orientation Week, argue over who gets what days for the next four months, and how we intend on getting more viewers. I’m about to ask Jae what brought this on, but now that the pizza has been ravaged, he might not be in a mood to talk about it. Instead, I pick up my things and get ready to leave. Namjoon and Jackson were on tonight, and I didn’t need nor want to be witness to that.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I say to Jae and Jamie on our way out. “Don’t party too hard tonight.”

“Excuse you,” Jae shoots back. “I’m not going to any party tonight. If you must know, I have band rehearsal.”

They better be rehearsing outside campus because it looks like every residence building’s hosting some celebration tonight.

“Well, I’m off to the library,” Jamie answers. “You kids don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“It’s the first day, what are you gonna do at the library?” asks Jae.

“Books are expensive, genius. I need to get my required books checked out before everyone else thinks of doing the same thing. I’ll see you later!”

Jae turns to me after Jamie’s gone. “So how’s your first day?”

“Am I a freshman? Are you worried I won’t make it to all my classes?”

Jae raises his hands in defeat. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

“I’m sorry, Jae.”

“S’alright. You wanna talk about it or something?”

I take a moment to consider the offer, but think against it. I’m not even sure what I want to talk about, how to even begin talking about it, or where I’m supposed to stop talking before it gets weird and awkward.

“I just need sleep, I think.”

“Or,” that’s an ominous _Or_ from Jae and I brace myself. “Or you could reconsider my dear friend Bob—“

I turn on my heel and wave goodbye. “Nice talk. Let’s do that again some time.”

When I make it back to the apartment, my neighbor from across the hall is sitting outside their door.

“Did you get sexiled again?” I ask.

Sehun doesn't even look up from his phone and grunts in response. We met in a similar fashion three years ago. Except that time, it was me who voluntarily exiled myself. My roommate had her boyfriend over, and I didn’t need to see or hear or even know about what went on between them. One more thing that’s changed: three years ago, Sehun’s arms and legs seemed too long for his body. Like his head and his limbs were loosely connected to the rest of his torso. Now…let’s just say he’s grown into his skin.

I pull out my keys and push them into the lock. “Why don’t they just move in together somewhere else?”

“Who knows.”

“Hey.” I wait, maybe a little too long to say, “You think you can steal your roommate’s PS4? My roommates won’t be in until after midnight.”

Sehun answers with another grunt and the whoosh of him pushing himself to stand up.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday.

Jae still thinks it’s his best idea yet, but the expression on Jamie’s face only spells out _bloody murder_. In big bold red letters. Next to her feet is a plastic toy hammer, a weapon of mass destruction in the right hands. Possibly the only thing that will tether her to her sanity for the next thirty minutes or so.

“Explain to me again,” I begin, taking in a deep, slow breath, “how this is supposed to attract potential fresh babies to our team.”

Jae turns to me, exasperated—but not nearly exasperated enough—from having to repeat his spiel for the last hour or so since coming out to the quad. He steps forward, beatific smile on his face, and spreads his arms wide in complete and utter surrender to the powers of the universe. “My dear Kitty Kat—“

“I have a name, Park Jaehyung—“

“Irrelevant. Kitty Kat, my Kitty Kat, what you send out to the universe is what you get in return.” He lifts his face to catch the sun. “We’re sending out good vibes. Good vibrations for everybody.”

“Are you high? Or drunk? Dude, you gotta be something.”

Definitely something. Who in his right mind would come out to the middle of the quad for Orientation Week dressed in a vomit-green stegosaurus onesie? Park Jaehyung, apparently, considered it normal and _ideal_. And if we’re to follow that vein of thought, the rest of us aren’t any better off if we’re willingly lining up to publicly humiliate ourselves all for the sake of solidarity. It could be worse, I tell myself. Really, there are far worse things. Like war. And famine. And the global climate crisis.

“We’re all in this together,” Jae says. For a moment, I’m half-expecting him to break out in song and dance. It’s happened before. “Don’t even pretend you’re not into this just a little bit.”

“Why can’t he just come out in his hoodie and play his guitar?” I mutter darkly under my breath. Now _that_ image would most definitely attract a crowd. A crowd of girls, perhaps at first, but that’s better than the strategic avoidance I foresee in our immediate future.

“That wouldn't be Jae, now would it?” Namjoon joins me behind the booth. It’s really just a table filled with fliers from last year, application forms, and a laptop playing The Best Of After School Sweg footage from the past two years. Random footage of the crew’s ridiculous antics flashed across the screen: Jae inside a box, a drunk Jackson delivering said box, Jamie making faces at the camera, Namjoon _accidentally_ breaking things. The title is a misnomer. It should be The Worst Of. We’d play music, but the day team was already broadcasting over the quad’s PA system. They have it easy. People _wanted_ to be on the morning team.

I shake my head at the ridiculous yellow onesie Namjoon is wearing. He looks like an egg yolk. On the half shell. “What are you even supposed to be?”

“Gudetama,” he answers. As if that’s supposed to mean something to me. 

This morning, I woke up to seventeen messages from Jae on the group chat saying we all should (an executive order, not a request) stop by the station for an emergency meeting before heading off to our respective classes. When I got there, Jae was elbow deep in a pile of onesies yelling _eureka_ over and over to himself as if he’s found the cure-all for cancer. Thankfully, Jamie and Jackson were there to distract me from thoughts of a furry orgy. Not that I thought Jae in a furry orgy was hot or anything. I’m not even into that, for the record. Anyway, long story short, Jae’s bright idea was that we should dress up for when we start handing out fliers this afternoon. According to his research, people respond to cute. Cute was our winning strategy.

“I thought you’re supposed to be a chicken?” Jackson asked when Jae handed out our designated costumes. He picked them out specifically, he had said. He put thought into it, he claimed. Jae was already wearing his. Proudly.

“Fun fact,” Jae answered, “Dinosaurs are more closely related to chickens than reptiles.”

“Then why am I a donkey?” Jackson was Eeyore from the Winnie the Pooh franchise. “I should be the dinosaur. I’m Tyranno Wang?”

“It’s called poetic irony, my friend,” Jae said flatly. “Learn it well.” 

Although the truth is more likely that this was as much as he could find from wherever his source may be. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually owned the onesie he’s wearing. Or all five he brought with him. Maybe he had pyjama parties with his roommates. Dyed each other’s hair and talked about how evil and confusing girls are. Totally plausible.

“Are you sure this is even sanitary?” I asked when he handed me mine. I scowled at it. Because I didn’t think Jae heard the disdain in my voice. “Where’d you even get this?”

“Just put it on,” Jae said, rolling his eyes and dumping the fluffy fabric in my arms. “Could you just deal with it for one afternoon? One afternoon.”

But I didn't want to put it on. I didn’t even want to touch it. I continued to scowl at him best as I can. “You’re doing this to spite me, aren’t you? You secretly hate me, don’t you?”

“You are _so_ melodramatic. Can’t you just support me? Like for once in your life? Just one time. _One. Time_.”

“No, see saying that invalidates every other thing I’ve done for you.”

“Give me one thing you’ve done for me. Just one. One major life event that you wholeheartedly and willingly, like from the bottom of that deep empty black hole of a heart in your chest, supported.”

“You argue like an old married couple,” Jamie said, then. A smile was evident in her voice, a wry one. Like she were insinuating insinuations that shouldn’t be insinuated at all.

I wanted to strangle something. Like a puke-green stegosaurus.

“Jealous already?” Jae shot back, hands on his chest in mock hurt. Jamie blanched and  stumbled backwards. “Always so jealous. You should me more secure in our relationship, man.”

Jamie visibly cringed and whacked at Jae’s face with the leg of her black dragon onesie. I believe she’s Toothless from that dragon movie. Then Namjoon came in, half-asleep and mumbling incoherencies, and Jae had to repeat his entire contingency all over again.

So that was this morning. Now, Jackson is wagging his tail and getting people to pretend to be interested in radio for like five seconds before they awkwardly escaped. Atomic Bunny Jamie stood next to them, her plastic hammer hovering dangerously close to Jae’s head. As for myself, I’m sitting next to an egg dodging all the judgey looks my way.

Or maybe they were looking at Namjoon.

“I did not sign up for mutually assured destruction when I signed up for this,” I say.

Namjoon just nods. “Better have read the fine print before you signed that application form.”

“Did you?”

He laughs. “Hey, I’m not the one complaining about—“

“Yeah, that’s Rat Monster,” comes Jackson’s voice. He turns to us and gestures at the three girls he’s victimized to stop at our booth. “Hey guys, meet Mina, Sana and Momo. They’re exchange students from Japan!”

“It’s Rap Monster,” Namjoon corrects. Not that it even fazed Jackson one bit. “Rap. R A P.”

“Ignore him,” Jae says, “he can be a grump sometimes.”

“I’m not a grump,” Namjoon mutters dimly to himself. “I’m overworked and underfed.”

“You kind of are a grump,” I tell him. “Sometimes. When you don’t nap. And when you’re hungry. Or when the sun is up.”

“He’s a really great guy, though!” Jackson is about a decibel away from yelling. “Except he never answers my calls and he’s always busy when I ask him out to get dinner or stuff.”

The three girls, freshmen I think with the way they look like they took too long to pick out an outfit this morning, back away from Jackson an inch. They’re nodding, sending each other panicked looks, and tapping each other’s arms probably in morse code. Jamie, merciful savior Jamie, whacks the back of Jackson’s head with her hammer then smiles sweetly at the girls.

“Thanks for stopping by, have a nice day!” she says to them, giving them their much needed permission to walk away. “I’m surrounded by freaks,” she huffs once the girls have disappeared into the crowd. “Be normal, for goodness’ sake. This is why we keep getting weirdos.”

“Who’s a weirdo?” Jackson asks.

Jae cackles wildly.

“Fine print,” Namjoon and I say in unison.

It’s beginning to get a little less cold, and it’s marginally warmer out this afternoon. Students are out in the quad sitting underneath trees and filling the benches lining the winding cobblestone path. Down the open field, people were chasing each other and throwing frisbees. Spatters of sunlight that filtered through the tree overhead fell onto our table in amorphous blobs. Music, laughter, and mindless chatter came in from all directions. All at once, everything felt too loud and too bright. I clench my fists under the table. Even wide open spaces could feel like a prison sometimes. _What’s wrong? Nothing, right? Nothing. Be normal._

Namjoon turns to me, waiting for some kind of conversation to happen but he gets distracted by Jae successfully taking the toy hammer away from Jamie and holding it over his head. Jae’s like nine feet tall, so try as Jamie might to reach for her toy, she’d only be doing so in vain. Jackson chooses to ignore the racket behind him and pushes fliers into random hands that pass his way.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks.

“I’m a rainbow unicorn, Namjoon.” And one day I am going to make Park Jaehyung pay for ever putting me into this suit. And for taking the obligatory commemorative family photo.

“Indeed, you are. Thus begets the question: are you doing okay? In general.”

“Why is everybody asking me that question?” I realize, just as soon as I said that that all this would easily be avoided had I just answered “I’m fine” like a normal human being.

“Because it’s standard when making conversation.”

Two things happen after a mental breakdown, or at the very least a confession that a breakdown had occurred. (Actually, there are probably more but in my experience it’s usually just the two things.) Either someone starts being extra careful around you, or they start being really weird around you. They sound like the same thing, but there’s a difference. One becomes weird in the sense that they think there’s always something constantly wrong with you while the other becomes weird in the avoidant sense. I prefer the latter.

“I’m fine, Namjoon. Really. I’m back, right? That’s a step towards the right direction. Or something.” In my head, I’m well aware that the air is not thinning and the humidity is not rising, but it’s getting harder to breathe and I unbutton the top of my unicorn onesie in what I hope is a nonchalant way. “So…how’s your week so far?”

Namjoon begins talking about his Philosophy class from this morning, and I nod at equal intervals just to signify I’m still listening. I don’t actually give a crap about Kierkegaard or whoever, but Namjoon’s really into it. Something about his self-awareness and personal responsibility, and his anguished conscience. I’m not even sure if he’s talking about this Kierkegaard fellow or if he’s graduated to talking about himself. This is why no one wants to do radio with Namjoon at 2AM.

Except for Jackson. But Jackson is…special.

I look up in time to see Jamie smile fondly at the back of Jae’s head. Then she sees me, and we both avert our eyes as if we’ve caught each other committing a crime.

 

***

 

I'm not saying this is the class I’ve been dreading all week, but next to everyone else who looks like they’re waiting for a highly anticipated concert to start, I may very well look like it’s the worst day of my life thus far. Park Jinyoung is teaching this class. Not Jaebum’s Jinyoung. My program adviser Park Jinyoung. World renowned singer-songwriter and producer Park Jinyoung.

He comes in about seven minutes late, and the first thing I notice is the reaction he’s stirred in the audience. It’s suddenly so silent you could hear your seatmate breathing. I’ve seen him before, talked to him on many occasions prior, but for some people in class this would be the first time they’re seeing him live and in the flesh. I remember my first meeting with him and feeling so intimidated I cried in the bathroom afterwards. Although, there probably wasn’t anything to feel intimidated about. He flashes the class a winning smile and half-sits on top of the teachers table.

The magazines don’t really do him justice. Or maybe, as I’ve suspected long before, the reason he always looked better in the flesh is because, instead of these fancy outfits and concept tailored suits, he wears normal dress pants and regular plain shirts in class.

“Nice to see some familiar faces,” he says in place of a formal greeting. Like his singing voice, his speaking voice was cool and breathy. He spoke just loud enough, some of the kids in the middle leaned closer to hear him talk. “Lots of new faces, too.”

He smiled around the room, his eyes lighting up when he recognized a previous student and his smile tugging upwards just the slightest when he’d run into one of his advisees. I keep my head down when his eyes scan my row.

“So. You’re all here for Songwriting. There’s a lot to get done, yeah?” he says, eyes crinkling in anticipation. “First off, I know you’re all big kids now and I don’t need to remind you, but I’m getting older so I’ll remind you anyway.” He ticks off a finger on his left hand, “Like in Basic Songwriting, you’re expected to bring your instruments with you. You can’t all fit on the piano, unfortunately.” He gestures at the piano stationed at the corner and some student give out a nervous laugh.

“Next,” he ticks off another finger, “you’re expected to sing in this class. If you think you’re a little lacking in the vocal department, collaborate. I highly encourage collaborative efforts. Your final demo is 50% of your final grade in this class. What else?”

Park Jinyoung folds his arms over his chest. “Let’s see. Oh, I know. While I’m waiting for my TA to arrive with your syllabus, let’s start with a question we should always be asking ourselves. It doesn’t really have an answer, but let’s see where this leads. So, why do we write songs? Why do we make music?”

“To express ourselves,” says a guy in the back. He looked like a stock photo of a music student: long hair under an orange fedora, red pants, and a shirt advertising some obscure indie band.

“Of course,” says Professor Park, “we all need an avenue of expression. Why else?”

A girl in the front, she was in my harmony lab last semester, her name is Nayeon, raised her hand. “To be heard.”

“Is that why you make music?” he asked.

Nayeon nodded.

“We all want to be heard, I make music for that reason too,” Professor Park says. “What about the rest of you?”

Why do _I_ make music? What profound reason could I possibly have to make music? It seemed to me that the real question was: why are you here? Why am I in this major? Why am I in this class?

“We want people to listen to us.”

“We have something we desperately need to say.”

_Because I want to be noticed?_

“So,” says Professor Park, “because we want attention? We want people to look at us, pay attention to us. Go on. This is good.”

“Because we have this unbearable urge to create.”

“We have voices in our heads.”

“To stop the screaming in our heads!”

“To put people inside our heads. So they can see what it’s like.”

“But what if no one’s interested?” Professor Park answered with a light chuckle. The rest of the class laughed with him. “But yes, this is also true. We all have these things inside our heads that if they don’t find a way out, they eat at us until we question our sanity. More. Give me more reasons.”

_Monsters. Because we have monsters inside our heads._

“To share our emotions,” Nayeon adds. “To set our emotions free.”

“To emotionally connect,” says her seatmate, a guy with a visible mole underneath his left eye.

“So…” Professor Park says, “to make sense of our emotions, perhaps? To make sense of ourselves and bond with people.”

_No, not for anyone else._ _Not for people._

“We want to live forever!” says someone from the back.

“Make a mark, leave a legacy.”

I look down at my notebook and think. When I’m at the studio, when the notes begin to make sense, and the harmonies come before I’m even aware of them—I think about listening to the full song the first time and the way it feels like I’m anywhere else but here. On the good days, when everything is right and the music just _works._

“We make music because there are truths best expressed in song?”

_That’s not it._

“So?” Professor Park asks. “Why do we make music?”

Slowly, I unclench my fists.

_To hide._

“Because we’re alive,” says a new voice. A f _amiliar_ voice. I look up in search of the intruder. We all turn to the door, and to a guy in black jeans and a grey hoodie. “Because we’re alive, we sing. We share ourselves that way.” Then he grins apologetically and raises the stack of papers in his hands to explain his presence.

“Class,” Professor Park says to us and gestures for him to come in. “This is my TA Park Sungjin.”


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you want to go with me to this thing?” my roommate asks.

I’m on my desk, building a new song template for my songwriting class.

Huiryong is facing her vanity mirror, reapplying her lipstick, a color somewhere between pink and orange. She’s always on her way to some Thing, be it a work function or just a function of Huiryong's social butterfly ways. In the two years we’ve lived together, the apartment has always just been a loading and unloading station for her. Somewhere she stopped in between classes, on her way to her then part-time jobs at the cafe and at the boutique, then her internships, and now her full-time job at the fashion magazine and whatever party she’s required to be at. A place to shower, change clothes, and dump her work bag and portfolios. A place where her boy of the month would pick her up.

Sometimes it was a senior at work or her cousins, or her friends. It wasn’t just boyfriends, though there were quite a few of those. Just recently there was a Wooshik and a Yoonje—I never really kept track. Most of them never really make it to our conversations because, according to Huiryong, they’re just going out. Nothing serious. Besides, she never kept them longer than a semester. Except for that one guy, Seokjin or Sungjong or whatever his name is who almost made into our orbit. He seemed like a Nice Guy, but Huiryong only kept him around longer than most because she couldn’t really figure out how she felt about the guy. Which is to say I really admire the way Huiryong carries herself because if I had just a bit of normalcy I could do that too. That, being go out and meet people. Do life. But I digress.

Huiryong is staring pointedly at me now, mascara wand poised at her lashes. She’s wearing her most flattering denim jeans and a fashionably oversized white shirt. Tonight, she kept her long dark hair straight, the way it naturally is. Maybe the party isn’t a fancy work party.

“You’re gonna have to come out of this hole some time.”

“I go out,” I say, feeling a tad annoyed she would even bring this up. It’s not the first time, and as long as we live together it probably won’t be the last. Likewise, it won’t be the last time I’m going to choose not to explain to her why it’s so hard for me to go outside. I can’t even explain it to myself, tough luck finding the words so some other person understands what I‘m going through.

“Yeah, to class. To the station. That doesn’t count. As anything.”

“Yes, it does!”

“You need to go out and meet people.”

“I go out and meet people!”

“Handing out fliers at the quad doesn’t count as going out and meeting people.”

“How do you even know that?” I don’t remember telling her about Jae’s master idea. I would never tell willingly and voluntarily her about anything potentially embarrassing.

She rolled her eyes and looked at me. “Being active on social media is part of my job description. I follow Jae and the rest of you everywhere you’re online. I happen to be very good at keeping updated. And by the way, you make a really grumpy rainbow unicorn.”

I am going to kill Jae when I see him. “Okay. You’ve made your point. I’m still not going.”

“Why? Because you’re composing?”

“I am.”

She turns back to the mirror and swipes at her lashes. “You’ve been clicking at that thing for two hours. You are _not_ writing a song.”

Huiryong _would_ know. She was a design major. If there was anything we bonded over, it was the fickleness and the unreliability of these so-called muses. Many were the nights we spent sharing a steaming bowl of spicy tofu stew, regretting the choices we’ve made in life. 

I tell her, “I’m…setting the mood. Gathering my ideas…”

“Procrastinating.”

“I am _not_ procrastinating. This is all part of the creative process.”

“It’s the first week of class. There are no deadlines. You have nothing to motivate you to get this done. Let’s go.”

“I want to get a head start on my homework?”

Huiryong caps her mascara and puts it back inside her makeup bag. “Honestly, when was the last time you even met someone new?”

Now this is a trick question. Technically, I did meet someone new. Park Sungjin was someone new. But that would entail telling Huiryong about meeting him at Khunfections and that he’s currently my TA. This would launch a totally unnecessary, not to mention uncomfortable, conversation about whether or not I’m attracted to him (I’m not) and if I want him as something more than just my TA by the end of this semester (I don’t). Deciding that a white lie is better than the truth, I look up at the ceiling and answer.

“No. But—“

“No buts. Come on. When was the last time you were out at a party?”

I don’t answer that.

“Don’t you miss it?”

That’s besides the point.

“Be honest with me, don’t you miss DJing?”

“I DJ three nights a week,” I mutter petulantly. I could feel the nervous bits finding anchors in my stomach and dragging all my insides down to the black hole inside me.

“Not on the radio. For a live audience. With realtime feedback. I’m talking about a real performance. At a party, at a club, at a rave. Don’t you miss that?”

“I…”

Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I could feel the warm humid air and the flittering pink and yellow lights from the strobe sticky and hot on my cheeks. The dance floor is moving and uninterrupted, and I put all those people hive-mided into a dancing super-organism there. It seems like a really long time ago, when in reality it was just last summer. That was me. _Was_ being the operative word here. Past tense.

“Is this still about _him_?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, maybe we should.”

“That’s really none of your business.”

“Well I’m your roommate. Everything’s my business.”

I could, in principle, attack her with something like _leave me alone_ or derivatives of, but Huiryong has difficulty with the concept. And if we’re being completely honest here, it’s a trait that has saved me multiple times in the past. I moved in with her and our other roommate, Ayeon, in first year—my mom’s friend knew Huiryong’s mom from church. The combination of new places, new people, and new situations was a recipe for a disastrous first year if not for Huiryong and Ayeon dragging me around everywhere and helping me adjust with a semblance of sanity. In other words, they wouldn’t leave me alone so eventually I had to accept the fact that we were friends.

Fair warning, don’t let Huiryong’s pretty face fool you into thinking she’s sweet because she may as well be the most intimidating person I know.

“It shouldn’t, right? It’s been…a while. And…like you say about your boys, he’s just a guy.”

“No he wasn’t. Joonyoung wasn’t just a guy.”

My stomach clenches at the mention of his name. Jung Joonyoung, ever the center of my unrequited love and the personification of my silent heartbreak. Joonyoung was a semi-permanent fixture in my life, beginning freshman year and ending in the summer of last year. Wonpil and I met him in one of our Adventures in Busking. He was performing on the street, and I just had to stop and listen to his deep, husky voice. From then on we’ve developed…I don’t really know what it was, but it was enough to keep us in contact. Constantly. And, at least on my part, obsessively. He was older, therefore cooler. He wanted to be a rockstar, so instead of going to university, he took on odd jobs to keep his band afloat. He taught me how to play guitar and helped me write and record my first demo. The very demo that got me into this major and straight into the supervision of Park Jinyoung.

So no, he wasn’t just a guy.

 “There’s really not much to say,” I tell her. Because I’ve avoided the issue for so long, I’ve formed a unscalable block about it. “I misunderstood stuff and now it’s really weird and we haven’t talked since.”

“He asked you out.”

I look down at my hands, balled tightly into fists. “Friends go out.”

“He kissed you.”

“I may have kissed him first.”

“Stop defending him.”

“Stop vilifying him.”

We’re interrupted by her phone ringing, but Huiryong ignores it. “I think your friends are looking for you.” I tell her.

“It’s fine. They can go without me.”

“What if it’s work?”

“I’m off hours.” Untrue. Huiryong was on-call at all hours.

“Why are you forcing this issue?”

“Because it needs to be forced,” she says. “You’ve been holed up here for too long. You need to meet new people, go out on dates, start working at clubs again. I’m sure whoever listens to your program appreciates your taste in music, but don’t you think it’s time you went out there again? Played live?”

There’s only one way I’m getting out of this, and unfortunately it’s not going to involve Huiryong leaving me alone to wallow in my misery and my failed attempt at love and life. I think about the last time I was at a party, the last time I was personally and specifically singled out to spin for the night. Slowly, I breathe out through my mouth and unclench my fists. Red crescent moons marked the inside of my palm, but that’s okay.

I’ll deal with my crazy at another date.

“Fine,” I say eventually. “I’ll go with you to this thing.”

Huiryong knows I’m just avoiding talking about Joonyoung, but the look on her face says she’s willing to compromise. “This conversation isn’t over,” she warns. “But, god, yes. We’re going to have so much fun tonight,” she says picking up her phone that’s finally stopped ringing, and typing a quick message to whoever. “Just you and me and Ayeon.”

With as much dignity as I can muster, I stand up and walk to my door. “I thought you were going out with friends?”

“I am. I’m going with you. Ayeon will meet us there,” she answers. “And you don’t even have to change out of your pyjamas,” she adds. “I don’t even care anymore. See, I’m that kind of supportive friend. I know exactly how much to push you into things.”

I roll my eyes and change into something more appropriate. Then I grab my canvas jacket and put on my boots.

 

*** * ***

 

The Thing, as it turns out, is a street party right on the riverside. There’s no awkward standing or getting stuck deciding where to sit or where to find someone to talk to. The music could be better, but no one was really complaining but me.

Ayeon saved us a spot by the view deck. “Finally? What took you so long?”

Huiryong’s eyes roll towards me. “What do you think?”

Ayeon laughs, and it’s bubbly and sweet. “I was kidding. Should we go get drinks?”

“I got this,” Huiryong says, flipping her hair over her slim shoulder. “The usual, yeah?”

“She’s gonna con some poor guy into paying for our drinks, isn’t she?” I say, watching Huiryong go out on the hunt. “Obi-Wan, teach me your ways.”

Ayeon tucked her short hair behind her ear. It was a shade of peach, and it looked so soft and silky. “I’m glad she convinced you to come out tonight,” she says.

“Don’t tell her but I’m actually really scared of her sometimes.”

“Me, too. But it’s been forever since we went out like this. This is nice.”

I shrug and lean back on the handrail. “We live together. Why would we go out?”

“That’s not the point! It’s nice to be out like this.”

“And you’re the ones who’re never home lately—“

“Aw, did you miss us?”

“No.”

The thing about being Ayeon and Huiryong’s roommate is that, for all purposes of discussion, I am their charity case. Even after all this time. It didn’t require much, just that I came out when they asked me to, covered for them when they needed me to, and be a wall to rant to when all their friends and backup friends were not a viable option. The reverse was also true. I’ve lost count of the number of times Ayeon was in my space just waiting for me to open up to her about something. Anything. But I’m never ready. Maybe if I get drunk enough tonight, I can talk to them like a normal person.

Huiryong comes back and distributes the cups accordingly.

“Do I want to know what’s in here?” I ask.

“Relax,” Huiryong answers. “It’s nothing crazy. So,” she raises her cup. “I believe Ayeon has a story to tell.”

Ayeon smiles into her cup. “It’s nothing, really. I just met someone, but nothing’s really happening. We just talked a bit.”

“Where did you meet this guy?” I ask.

“At this bar one of our producers helped set up.” Ayeon worked as an assistant at a recording studio. Assistant now, but it won’t be long before she ascends to artist or lyricist. Whichever comes first. “He’s one of the performers. I heard their demo, they’re really good. Well, will be even better if they get enough people in their band. Do you know any drummers?”

I don’t, sadly.

“When’s the big opening night?” Huiryong asks.

“No date yet,” Ayeon says, “and you’re both invited. Attendance is a must. No backsies.”

This is nice. This is normal. Even if it is cold out.

Huiryong mutters a series of curses under her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Ayeon asks. “What is it?”

Huiryong turns around and hides her face behind her cup. “I think I just saw my ex.” 

Ayeon stands on tiptoe to look at the direction Huiryong’s hiding from. “Which one?”

“The one with the really bad breakup.”

That really narrows it down to that one guy she’s dated a few months longer than most. His name escapes me right now; Huiryong didn’t like talking about him. I don’t think Ayeon’s met him either, but we both knew _of_ him.

“I’m gonna make an orderly exit,” Huiryong says. “I’ll see you guys at home. Don’t wait up.” Then she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.

Ayeon’s phone rings as if on cue, and the smile on her face says it all. “Hi. Oh, I’m at the riverside party. You too? Really?” Ayeon glances at me, and I gesture at her to go ahead. We’ve had this conversation before. If new people are involved, then I’m out. “Okay.” Then to me, she mouths a _thank you_ followed by _I’ll see you later_. “Where are you?”

I wave goodbye to Ayeon as she, too, gets drowned in the white noise and haze of the Friday evening bustle. I turn back to my drink, stare into its depths, then chug. And just like that, I’m alone.

It took a full hour to get here, so I might as well spend at least an hour doing whatever before heading back home. Even if I am about to freeze over. _Why_ didn’t I bring a heavier jacket? I get rid of my cup at the nearest recycling bin, take a seat at the bench next to it, and shove my hands inside my pocket. Everywhere I look, it’s either a group of friends drinking or a couple out on a date. Typical.

But only because Huiryong brought him up first, I wonder how Joonyoung is doing.

_Don’t even think about him_ , Huiryong and Ayeon would say. Huiryong had been right about him, when she said I probably shouldn’t expect anything from him. That if he wanted to date me, he would’ve done so already. It was one of our recurring conversations.

“He’s always around,” I’d say. “He probably likes me a little bit, right?”

“Yeah, about as much as he likes chicken and beer.” Huiryong would say.

“He makes time for me.”

“Like one makes time for leisurely activities. Like chicken and beer.”

“He’s not like you,” I said. 

I thought it would anger Huiryong and she’ll leave me alone, but she just said, “No he’s not. Because at least I tell the guy I’m dating that I’m dating him not for anything serious like a relationship or anything like that. Your boy is probably stringing you along.”

“He’s not like that. You don’t even know him. We write music together.”

“I’m sure he writes music with chicken and beer too.”

Anyway, turns out Huiryong was half-right about him. I say half, but that’s only because I never really heard Joonyoung’s side of the story. I wonder if I’d feel less pathetic if I wasn’t sitting next to the garbage. A pair of red sneakers chucks something into the trash, stays a second too long, then took a step towards me. Some guy in a baseball cap is standing in front of me. From where I’m sitting and from where he’s standing with the lights behind him, I barely recognize the shadow if I even should. I look up, and squint.

“Hi?”

My stomach jumps. I recognize that voice. It’s my songwriting TA Park Sungjin.

“Hi again. You’re in my class.”

When songwriting ended, I waited until he left with Professor Park before leaving the room. I didn’t need nor want him to see me after our little faux pas at Khunfections. I didn’t realize he saw me. But then, I wouldn’t really know. I kept my head down the entire time. I nod, still squinting at him.

“You’re not waiting for a date, are you?”

I shake my head.

Ha laughs at something. “Why are you squinting? Oh! Sorry.” He steps aside and sits next to me. “My roommate ditched me for a date, can you believe it?” I could, but I don’t think we’re at a level to be discussing such things with each other. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m about to go home.”

“You are? By yourself? It’s late.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Don’t walk home by yourself. It’s late. Where do you live?”

I don’t answer that. “I walk all alone by myself all the time.” I realize what I just said and if I had any control over myself I’d dunk my head in the trash.

“That’s not…you really should—no that’s not right. You’re not afraid? It’s dangerous out. Do you live near campus?”

“It’s really fine.”

“I’m on my way back anyway. Let’s go together?”

“I—“

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.” He stands up first. “Really, it’s fine.”

I get up and follow him to the subway station. It really is freezing and I stomp my feet and huddle closer inside my jacket.

“Cold? Here.” Sungjin shrugs off his jacket and before I can even protest or even think about protesting, he’s wrapped his grey hoodie around my shoulders. I’d protest, but his hoodie is really soft and really warm and it smells really good and he’s already walked ahead of me.

I amble after him when he checks on me. “Thanks,” I mutter.

All the way back, all Sungjin kept talking about was bowling because apparently he’s very bad at it while his roommate, who invited him to play tonight but then ditched him, was good at everything. Then he moved on to talking about anything and everything that caught his attention along the way. But the entire walk, all I could think about is the way he’s still running his hands through his hair—taking his cap off, fixing his hair, then putting it back on—and that at some point, he’s slipped from standard to dialect and there’s just so many things happening all at once.

He’s still walking with me even after we’ve exited the station. “Here is fine,” I say.

“What? No. I’ll walk you properly all the way.”

So I walk some more and Sungjin talks some more. He’s still talking about the last movie he saw even when we’ve reached my building and I’ve taken the first step up the stairs. Standing on the step, I’m almost as tall as him.

“So this is me.”

Sungjin looks up the building then at the street. He looks…surprised? I can’t really read the expression on his face but it’s easier to dismiss it than to overanalyze something that might not mean anything. “Well, it was nice seeing you. Good night.”

“Okay.”

“Go on in.”

_No, that’s weird_. I back up one step, but Sungjin doesn’t budge until I’m halfway through the door.

“I’ll see you in class,” he calls out as the glass doors shut behind me.

I’m about three steps into my room when I realize I didn’t return his hoodie.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up earlier than usual for a Saturday morning only because there’s a strange presence next to me on my bed. It’s a familiar disorienting moment when you recognize the same old bed, the same old ceiling, but a brand-new feeling.

It’s Ayeon.

“Can we please go get breakfast? I promise not to leave you behind this time.” She’s lying next to me, on her stomach and with her face propped up on the heel of her palms. Across the room, her bed is already made.

Our apartment has two rooms, and because Huiryong and Ayeon had already been living in it together for a year before I moved in, someone had to give in and share the space. Huiryong is adamant that she won the solo room fair and square through the most intense rock-paper-scissors game of Contemporary Times. Ayeon has been more than welcoming. And by that, I mean to say sometimes she has this tendency to be invasive. But I can’t hate her because I look at her and think rainbow unicorns and sparkles.

I turn to my side and hide my face under my pillow. “What time is it?”

“Ten. Okay, so that’s not breakfast. Brunch?”

“Where’s Huiryong?”

“Getting ready. I’m sorry I left you alone last night. I’m a terrible friend.”

I’m used to it, is what I want to say. You probably had better fun without me anyway, is another thing I want to say. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t even want to go out last night. Did you have a good time?”

She sighs so deeply—so giddily—it’s almost contagious.

“She had a really good time!” Huiryong yells from the other room. Our walls are so thin you’d think it’s impossible to keep secrets. But it’s actually really easy. If you were me.

“You know, it’s really hard for me to accept your apology when you’re like this.”

Ayeon falls over herself in a giggling fit. It’s a musical tinkle that reminds me of the bells on top of doors to flower shops or ice cream parlors. It’s impossible to hate her and I think she’s knowingly using this against the universe. I push myself off the bed and stumble onto the floor.

“You know I was calling you last night to check you. But as usual, you weren’t answering or replying to my messages.”

This is one of the times my flagrant unresponsiveness to texts and calls work to my advantage. I didn’t even notice Ayeon’s calls until after I got home because…well because Sungjin kept talking and while I could have upped the whole not-interested vibe by being on my phone for the duration of the hour and something we were in transit…I didn’t. I don’t even know why.

“I went home and went to sleep.”

Grabbing some clothes, I head into the attached bathroom to get changed. Then I wash my face and brush my teeth. When I come out, Ayeon is still sitting on my bed. Inspecting Sungjin’s hoodie.

_Okay. Don’t panic._

“Is this new?” she asks. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Most of my clothes are in neutral shades of black, blue…dark blue, dark green…maroon, dark maroon. Never grey, or white, or, god forbid, pastel anything. And Ayeon would know because Ayeon helped me unpack the day I moved in. She sat on my unmade bed and smiled at me and said, “I’ll help you with your stuff.” And it was too much too soon that I had to excuse myself for the bathroom and not-cry. I wish I had an explanation for it now, but all I have is that some days are worse than others.

“It’s nice,” she continues. She presses the fabric to her cheek and closes her eyes. “And warm. This is really warm.”

“Really?” I hold on to the door so I don’t end up doing something silly with my hands. “You haven’t seen it before? It’s been here forever, like, at the bottom of my drawer. Should we go? I think Huiryong’s ready.” I turn towards the direction of Huiryong’s room. “Huiryong, are you done putting on your makeup?” 

“It’s not makeup!” she yells back. “It’s just mascara and gloss!”

“She’s ready. Let’s go. I’m hungry. Let’s go get breakfast. We don’t do that anymore. Most important meal of the day.” Ayeon looks at me weird, and I hope it’s not because I was talking too fast or because I’m trying not to focus on the hoodie which in effect only makes me look at it even more.

“Okay? Let’s go then.”

I only breathe as soon as Ayeon gets up and leaves the hoodie behind.

I don’t remember the last time I had a proper meal with someone but breakfast with Ayeon and Huiryong seems like a step towards the right direction. It’s not like I have to do anything. I just have to sit there and listen to them talk. I can be normal enough to do that.

 

 

***

 

Wonpil bumps the side of his chair against mine as soon as Music Tech lab is dismissed. The room is arranged in parallel rows of computers each attached with their individual synthesizers, MIDI pads, and audio mixers. The best part about it is the swivel chairs. It’s not unheard of that when you’ve run out of ideas, the only  thing left to do is spin around until you fall over.

“Are you doing anything after class? Do you have radio?”

This morning, I received my email from Dr. Choi’s office for our weekly appointment. Her assistant, someone who signed the email as Chaeyoung, sounded too chirpy in her email, I felt no remorse moving her message to the trash. I’m supposed to meet with the good doctor this afternoon, but there really isn’t anything for us to talk about. “Not until really late tonight. What’s up?”

“I need a second opinion.”

“For what?”

“Do you know Yoon Dowoon from percussion?”

I shake my head, not recognizing the name.

“I’m gonna go see if he’s any good. Will you come with me?”

I nearly drop by backpack. “You know how I am with new people…”

“You don’t even have to talk to him!” Wonpil says, pushing our chairs back into place. “He doesn’t talk much, I’ve heard. And anyway, I’m not even going to talk to him until after I’ve heard him. Please? I just need to hear him bang around a bit and you have a really good ear.”

So we do that. The practice rooms and music labs are always fully booked all hours of all the working days, I’m impressed this guy has managed to get a slot at a decent hour. I don’t even bother signing up for a room unless absolutely necessary. The manic rush just isn’t worth it.

“Are you preparing a demo?” I ask on our way up the stairs. “Why do you need a drummer?”

“It’s a secret project,” Wonpil says, but he’s teasing and it’s as obvious in his face as it is in his voice. “I’ll tell you all about it when there’s something to tell. His practice room’s at the end of the hall on the fourth floor.”

“How did you even hear about this guy?” Drummers weren’t exactly the rockstars of the College of Music, but they had a charm of their own and people made it their business to know who’s who. I’ve never heard of Yoon Dowoon, but if Wonpil is interested in him then he must be good.

“I asked around. I didn’t think finding a drummer was this hard. The good ones already have their own bands.”

“You’re in a band? Or…you’re forming a band?” 

He grins sheepishly. I don’t think he meant to blurt that out but it’s too late now. “Kind of. When we get a drummer we will be a proper one.”

“Wow.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I just…I didn’t think you’d go the band route?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t either. It just sort of went that way. My roommate said they needed someone on keyboards for a bit and asked if I was available…and then we wrote a song. And now we’re a band.”

“Jinyoung did?”

His brows do that thing when he’s confused. “I moved out of the dorm three semesters ago. Didn’t I tell you?”

Wonpil used to dorm with Jinyoung, Jaebum, and a few other guys. He must have told me about it but I can’t remember anymore. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to introduce you to my roommate.”

Thankfully, we’ve reached the end of the hall. Wonpil takes the right side of the door and I take the left. Surreptitiously, he peeks into the room and signals to me that Dowoon’s reading sheet music. With his fingers, Wonpil counts down from three, and then _clack-clack-clack_. A crash and ride later, the decision is made.

 

***

 

Monday nights are radio nights with Jae.

“You’re in a good mood,” he says.

I put on a playlist of my most recent mix. By recent, I mean from last summer when I was still capable of coming up with something at least fifteen levels below depressing. “I’m in the same mood as I always am.”

“No. There’s something different. Can’t put my finger on it.”

“I don’t want your finger anywhere near it.”

I _have_ been feeling better since Friday night, but there’s no reason for Jae to know about that. Since my roommates started working full-time, they’ve been so busy I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be Ayeon and Huiryong’s charity case. On good days, it’s actually fun. I have friends. I’m _normal_. For a little while, I can distract myself from the white noise inside my head.

“Kitty Kat, my Kitty Kat, if God put me on this Earth to put my finger on things, I will put my finger on things.”

“I think God put you on this Earth because he didn’t want your fingers on things in Heaven.”

“I’m obviously heaven-sent here on a mission. You working on anything?”

I’ve been on my computer since arriving at the station. Professor Park assigned us our first exercise at the end of his lecture last week. Write a song. Any song. I’ve been working on it since the weekend and all I’ve got is my template. No words, not even a melody line.

_One verse, that’s all you need. Then one chorus. Repeat. That’s it. That’s a song. Come on, you can do this. You can write a song._

I’ve been writing songs for as long as I can remember. Silly rhymes at first, words that pretended to be poetry. It wasn’t anything gripping, nothing profound. I just really loved doing it. So I kept doing it. Most kids at that age would be out with their friends playing out in the schoolyard, or hanging out in the halls. I was hiding out in the music room. While most kids spent their days participating, I was barely surviving.

Growing up, I’ve always wanted to do better. Get good grades, do well in sports, be popular and pretty. But my lessons in problem solving had less to do with apples and how many I give to whom, and more to do with how fast I had to walk to avoid the the three girls who made my life miserable. I knew that as long as I stayed inside the classroom, they would torture me with an arsenal of words that shouldn’t hurt as if it were a broken bone. The solution was to find an empty classroom so I can finish my schoolwork, eat my lunch in peace, and wait until my classmates have left the building so I can walk home unharmed. This took me around the school looking for places to hide, leading me to the greatest discovery of my youth: the music room.

My first friend was Wonpil’s mom. She was a music teacher at our elementary school, and every afternoon I would spend an hour listening through the door, pressing my ear against the wood just to hear the lilting notes her students played. Eventually she caught me, and there I found what I was looking for. I found joy. Doses of medicine in the form of Czerny, and Mozart, and Beethoven. As long as I had music in my ears, I couldn’t hear anyone call me fat or ugly or weird instead of my name.

In grade five—after we’ve migrated and I was more alone than ever—I started listening to everything. I found solace in song lyrics, comfort in the feelings put into words that let me know I wasn’t the only one going through the things I did. I found catharsis in heavy guitar riffs, company in blues, and joy in pop music. In a way, these songs let me know that I could look at my world through notes instead of tears. That someone somewhere out there understood. That just like me, they wanted to be understood. They let me know, somehow, that the only way for people to hear you is to be loud. I wanted to be understood. I became obsessed with finding the right words and the right notes. I felt like a surfer, riding the music for the perfect wave. Suddenly, these notes started taking form in my head, bursting out like fireworks expanding in the night sky.

I started writing.

I wrote about everything. Songs about being sad, and there were a lot of those. When I was upset, I banged on the keys, feeling the rush of an allegretto as if I were screaming out at those who hurt me. I even wrote love songs for boys I would never speak to. Odes of my unrequited love, and silly confession songs that never made it out of my mouth.

For the first time in my life, I felt like a person.

But what I learned about being a person is this: it hurts.

And when you’ve never been whole to begin with, the dark clouds will always find their way back. If you’re lucky, there’s a concrete reason for it. You had a bad day, you failed a test, or your dad left your mom, you were too weird to make friends, and you fell in love with people who never loved you back. But other times, most times, I’ve wandered around in the dark, hands stretched out looking for a breakthrough.

This is my normal.

I look at Jae, still waiting for an answer. “Something like that, yeah.”

He grins. “Need someone on guitar?”

 

***

 

I don’t see Sungjin in class today, and I’m partially relieved of the embarrassment of having to return his hoodie. Furthermore, I don’t get called to present my song in front of the class, so that’s another small victory for me. I don’t have radio, and my roommates are elsewhere. I have the room to myself, and I've never felt so trapped. I’m transcribing the song I wrote for class, rewriting is as I go along, when the anxiety hits again. It feels like a cold fog descending over me. My room feels like a prison. Small and suffocating even when the apartment isn’t small at all. It’s big enough for the three of us, two bedrooms, a living area, and a kitchenette. It’s neat and homey, and yet my mind is stuck on alert I barely recognize the walls I’ve been staring at for three years.

Before I spiral into a panic attack, I grab my cap and my hoodie, and put on my shoes.

When I get to the convenience store, Young K is in his usual spot studying. I call him Young K, if only because those are the only characters I’ve managed to spy from his notes. I have no idea how to ask for his name after the better part of the year talking and sitting quietly with each other. At first, we’d just run into each other at odd hours of the night here. Eventually recognition kicked in, and then we’re the flick-of-the-brows acknowledging type of acquaintances, and then fast forward to now that we share a seat near the back of the store. We don’t usually talk. He comes here to study, and I don’t disturb him.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at me. I guess we’re in a conversing mood tonight.

I take the seat across him. “You dyed your hair grey.”

He reaches up and touches the ends of his hair. “Does it look weird?”

“No. Actually…it looks really good.” It complemented the feline character of his eyes.  Made him look like even more striking than usual. Everything is sharp about him: his eyes, the slope of his nose, his jawline, and even the way he dressed.

“Another bad night?”

You know that feeling? How it’s strangely comfortable talking to an utter stranger about the darker details of your life? Granted, the first time I talked to Young K about anything remotely concerning my life, I had a bottle of soju and missed deadlines I wanted to forget about. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s different from Dr. Choi because Young K isn’t about to take notes about me or try to figure out what’s wrong with me. He just listens. And then afterwards, he tells me about his troubles in return. No advice, not words of platitude. 

Kind of like support group. Alcoholics Anonymous. Except for people like me.

_Emotions Anonymous_.

“Kind of. I was working on this song. And then my brain just shut down on me. The words aren’t coming out. The melody isn’t coming out. I hope you have good news.”

I know he does because he smiles almost immediately as if he can’t help himself. “I met someone. I mean we just met but it feels nice.”

“You like her.”

“Yeah, I do.” His eyes drift off as he goes into a memory. Not wanting to invade his moment, I glance away. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try. So what’s this song you’re writing?”

“I think it started off about, you know, _him_. But I don’t know what it is anymore. It kind of…went another direction. I’m not sure yet.”

“Ah,” he says, “the whole make art with the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Shut up.”

Young K rips a sheet off his spiral notebook and picks up his pencil, and pushes them both towards me. “Here.”

“What am I going to do with that?”

“I don’t know? Write something.”

“I can’t think on paper.”

“Maybe that’s the point?”

I curl my fingertips into my palm. “I really don’t want to do this right now.” Not with an actual live person watching me.

“Okay,” he sighs. “What if I go first?”

I don’t have a good enough argument for that.


	6. Chapter 6

Sungjin shows up for class a week later to mediate instruction in Professor Park’s absence (he’s away filming for some talent show or other). As soon as Sungjin enters the room, the first thing I notice is the gorgeous Martin acoustic across his shoulders. The next thing I notice is that I’m oddly jittery. More than usual anyway. Sungjin looks up at the class, and his big, dark eyes crinkle in the corner when he grins.

“So, it’s me. I’m Sungjin in case some of you don’t remember. And this,” he lifts his guitar, “this is Atom. We’ll be going over today’s topic for the first half of the session, then after that I’ll be giving you back your graded songs from the first exercise.”

When he glances in my direction, I quickly avert my gaze, hoping he’s just looking past me as I pretend to look busy with my notes.

After something like a million years, Sungjin begins his lecture. He half-sits on the teacher’s desk up front and poises his hand against his guitar’s fingerboard. The action is so smooth, so natural, something only people who’ve been playing guitar for at least half their lives would ever look like this. I remain still, transfixed as I took him in. His mouth is moving, his hands are moving, and he still keeps pushing his hair back and I’m staring right at him as he explains more with his hands than with his words, but I couldn’t hear a word he’s saying. All I could think about is how incandescent he looks. How… _happy_ he seems.

I didn’t notice it then, but in the context of twenty other students, it became clear to me that it wasn’t just me who was spellbound by whatever magic Sungjin has about him. I thought it was the alcohol in me that made me feel fuzzy enough to let him walk me home, but I can see now that the class had relaxed as if there’s something intrinsically calming about Sungjin’s presence. The whole atmosphere felt…lighter.

A soft strum from his guitar jars me out of my ponderings. Jarring, because it’s out of tune.

An embarrassed Sungjin laughs at himself, juts his tongue out as he apologises, and twists the pegs until he’s got it right. He plays a few chords, and then smiles softly to himself. He loves his guitar, that much I can tell. Not just with the way he cradles it against his chest, or how his fingers fit on the frets, it’s also just a feeling. Like if he were to hold someone against him, it would feel safe and warm.

_Oh my god, what am I thinking?_

“So,” he continues. “As I was saying. Prosody. It’s like a balance in a song. It’s stability. It’s the dynamics in a song that makes it a whole. It’s really building on a theme, on a message. Like you really have to mean what you’re singing about. Like…for example…”

He strums another chord, and my heart stops when he sings. It’s just one line, the first two line from the chorus of Professor Park’s song _You’re the One_. It’s a warm, smooth melody that spills from his lips. It feels like a mist, filling in the empty spaces of the room, and inside me, light and flowing, but in control. Two lines, and I’m at the edge of my seat desperate to hear more.

“There’s that…but it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t it? There has to be more. It feels like it’s not enough, right? Like something else has to happen. That’s what I mean when I say you’re teasing or creating a build. Naturally, you anticipate what happens next. _You’re the only one I can see. You’re the only I can hear_. There has to be more.

“Already in the first verse, we’re saying things like… _When I’m looking into your eyes, looking at me. Happy, but restless. Restless, but happy. I know that you worry about me. Everything surrounding me will someday take me apart._ Fancy living, beautiful girls around me. I’m trying to assure you that you’re the only for me. And then he says this killer line, if you look really close, you’ll see that the only one I see is you…so…”

He sings the the chorus again, this time all the way to the end. I can’t help but lean forward and close my eyes. Sungjin’s voice makes me want to listen to him forever. It makes me wonder just how much he can do with those vocals, how high and how deep can he go? As he sings, a throaty rasp rises above his controlled timbre, above his strumming and plucking, and it makes his voice darker and huskier, so much better. Not once does he stumble through the notes, and his voice goes effortless in the changes in pitch and in the dynamics of the song. It’s so different from when he talks. When he talks, it’s sharp and pointed, or, like now when he’s keeping his tongue straight he stumbles and stutters. When he sings it feels like melted brown sugar.

“So that’s four lines, right? Do you ever wonder why we do this unconsciously? That’s the idea that we’re going at. It’s balanced. It’s satisfying. That’s what we’re looking for when writing a song.”

The rest of his lecture goes over my head. I’ve begun wondering what else he does with that voice. If he took formal training—he must have, with that vocal control. If he plans to do anything with his singing, or if he already is. If so, where else should I go to hear him sing? I’ve never seen him in campus before, not in university fairs or showcases. A voice like that would not have gone unnoticed. Does that mean he went to university somewhere else? I begin to wonder how he even realized he could really sing, how he came about his guitar, and if he played every other instrument in the book. He must be composing now, too. Is that why he’s working for Park Jinyoung?

I dally behind after class is dismissed. I still have his hoodie. The sooner I return it, the sooner I’ll be absolved of the anxiety it brought along. I couldn’t explain it to my roommates, and I most definitely do not want Sungjin to think that I’m holding on to it on purpose. Or that I’m a hoodie thief. Or something.

Nayeon approaches him before she leaves, laughing at something Sungjin hasn’t even said yet. And then she laughs at something Sungjin says. I feel a shot of annoyance, but only because I want to get out of here as soon as possible. But Nayeon is telling him something about this song and this band and I’m running out out of things to pretend I’m still doing just to stay behind. One more minutes, I tell myself. If another minutes goes by without any change in my situation, I’m leaving. But just as I think that, Nayeon realizes she’ll be late for her next class and leaves. Finally.

I feel Sungjin’s eyes on me as I walk towards him. “Here.” I hold out his hoodie, folded neatly into a square. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome. Next time bring a heavier jacket, maybe? It’s still really cold at night.”

I’m not really sure how to take that so I just say “Sure.”

A beat.

“I was really nervous today. Was it obvious? I think it was pretty obvious. My heart was beating so fast. I thought if I brought Atom along I wouldn’t be so nervous. That wasn’t weird was it? I didn’t want to play on the piano, it’s not really my forte.”

“You did good,” I tell him. I guess, that’s what he wanted to hear? Everyone wants validation, one way or another.

“Really” You think so?”

I nod. I half-turn to the door, intent on making an escape before it got even more awkward than already. “I should…”

“No, yeah you should. Don’t want you to be late for class…”

“I don’t actually…but you…”

“Oh, me? This is my last class today…”

“Ah.”

“I’ll see you in class?”

I nod (again), and try not to run out of the classroom.

 

***

 

We weren’t even halfway into the semester and Professor Park (and every other professor) wanted us to get a head start on our final projects Tallying it all up, I have four demos and an EP to write (and written and practical exams to study for) if I want to pass this semester. I’ve barely written one song, and now I have to pull at least twelve submission and performance worthy songs from somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.

“I want six original never-before heard songs that define who you are as an artist. I want you to tell me a story using these songs. I want to feel as if I know you when I listen to your EPs,” Professor Park said. “And I will know if some of you are going to cheat on this. So get working. I want professional work form all of you. Write this like your masterpiece.”

That is, of course, on top of essays to be written, transcriptions, arrangements, performances, and all my other classwork. I used to think finding the right notes is like surfing a wave (though I’ve never even tried) but now I feel like I’m drowning in music. Caught by a current and taken completely under. It literally feels like drowning. I can’t breathe, and I feel the pressure in my ears. Like one of these days, my ear drums are going to burst and that’s it. No more hearing. No more music.

“Don’t you ever feel overwhelmed by all of this?” I ask. “Like…you’re living in some kind of…reverse reverb.”

Young K doesn’t look up from his chemical equations. “Like you’re trapped in a wall of sound?”

“Something like that. Like…I don’t know.” I’m trying to explain this, best as I can, in our usual table at the back of the convenience store. I came down here because I was hungry and too lazy to find real food. “Like you’re trying to make sense of all the sounds but they’re all just jumbling into some unnatural sound full of distortion and feedback and you put that into a hollow tube and you’re trapped inside that hollow tube.”

“You…ran out of music?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it’s more like…there’s too much music now. Too many sounds I don’t know which dots to connect to make a proper picture.”

Young K looks up from his notes, but looks down again because my head is resting against my arms. “I can’t say it feels like that exactly. I know I feel exhausted sometimes, but it’s something a good weekend can fix. Or maybe,” he checks his watch, “it’s midnight and you need to go home and sleep.”

Ayeon and Huiryong were working late again. When I saw too much of them, I always thought I’d be better off living by myself, but it’s different now. “I guess I should do that.”

“Go to sleep,” he says, going back to his studying and shooing me with his highlighter.

I bring a heavier jacket this time, but it still feels colder than it should. I start down the street, towards and past Khunfections, where it’s brightly lit and still inhabited by human life.

“Hey,” someone says from behind me.

I jump back. It’s Sungjin, looking warm as ever, with a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“Why are you always alone at weird hours?” he asks.

I somehow muster the presence of mind to point towards the convenience store.

“Midnight snack?”

I nod.

“You headed home?”

I nod.

More awkward standing. Someone from inside the shop, a female voice, calls for Sungjin. I take it as my cue to walk ahead while he’s not looking. But I’m not that lucky and before I know it, Sungjin is already walking next to me. He’s quiet this time. Which is good. It’s too cold to talk, and I’m too tired to listen.

“I wasn’t alone,” I say when we’re about halfway to my building. I meant to say we could separate ways here but…

“Did he offer to walk you back, at least?”

“Why would you assume a he?” I don't actually want Sungjin to leave me alone.

“It’s not?”

“It’s not like that…and besides I would never ask. I never asked you either.“

“But that’s because you don’t have to. You’re not supposed to ask. It’s automatic.”

“But maybe you shouldn’t if no one asked. Like, isn’t that the decent thing to do?”

“The decent thing to do is to make sure you get home safe.”

I take that as the universal you.

 

***

 

At the beginning of class, as Sungjin was passing around our graded exercises, Professor Park asked me to stay behind after the lecture. It’s never a good thing, and as I wait for the room to empty, I go over the past three weeks looking for the exact moment I messed up again. I haven’t missed a deadline yet, and I’ve written songs best as I could. They weren’t as good as my previous work—I know this, Professor Park knows this too. Is that what this is about?

“How are you?” Professor Park asks as soon as the room was empty. Well, empty-ish. Sungjin is still around.

“I’m fine.”

Professor Park’s smile was gentle, fatherly even, and that’s why it’s all wrong. It’s patronizing. Pitying. “You seem to be holding up so far.”

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, too conscious of Sungjin’s presence. He really doesn’t need to be here, does he?

“No, not at all. It’s just that you’ve been skipping your sessions with Dr. Choi.”

My eyes whip towards Sungjin. He has his head down, arranging the papers we passed today. If he recognised the name, he shows now indication. He doesn’t even appear to be listening to our conversation.

“I really don’t need to?”

Professor Park sighs softly. “It’s not about whether or not you think you need to. I really think talking to Dr. Choi could help you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I choke.

“What you’re going through _is_ normal. But…” I hate the _but._ This is always the part where people start looking at me differently. When the looks become sorrier, sadder. “But the way you’re dealing with it.” His eyes flit towards my arms. With my hoodie, he can’t see them now, but he knows they’re there.

I know they’re there, too.

No one was supposed to find out. But getting sent to the Vice Dean’s office was the final nudge, and there I was over the edge. Naturally, I decided to get piss drunk. But I wasn’t so out of it that I couldn’t remember what happened after. I was in pain, so I took painkillers. And because I was in a lot of pain, I took a lot of them. But as I learned that night, the body has ways to kick the bad stuff out of your system, not all of them, but most of them. Anyway, I ended up at the infirmary and because I have no family here my program adviser was called in. The thing about hospital gowns and doctors were that they don’t really help keep your secrets.

“I’m fine now.” I could feel how red my ears are. “I really am. I’m normal again.”

“I still think you should be talking to someone about this.”

“I have people I can talk to.” Sort of. Kind of.

“Someone who can help you.” The professor’s voice was deliberately calm.

“There’s nothing to help.” I’m about three words away from crying, but I can’t cry here. I push my hands inside my sleeves and dig my nails as deep as they can go through the skin of my forearms.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable with the idea of Dr. Choi, so I’m offering you an alternative.”

Something, or maybe someone, is scraping me raw from the inside of my skin. I don't need alternatives. I just need fresh air and silence and maybe a really dark room because it’s getting too bright and too loud and too suffocating.

“Sungjin is also my research assistant at the music therapy lab. Come in once a week. I really want you to at least try. Do you understand?”

I keep my eyes on the floor, ashamed. I want to argue. Convince Professor Park that I don’t need help. But my jaw is locked and my throat is filled with thorns. So I just nod, muster out a thank you, and leave the room. I don’t even bother acknowledging Sungjin.


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you think of this?” Wonpil asks, playing a segment of our track after adjusting the EQ for the what I think is the eleventh time. 

Friday night and we’re in the music lab Wonpil reserved for the semester. We did end up pairing up with each other for Music Tech. Wonpil even made me swear an oath that any time we needed partners for the class, we’d automatically pair up. An exclusive and binding contract. Pinky swear and all. Our mix report isn’t due until another week, but Wonpil says he wants to get the processing out of the way because he has rehearsals with his band over the weekend.

I wasn't really listening. I could still see the look on Professor Park’s face and the sound of his voice as he spoke to me. Every time the memory would return more vivid than ever. Thinking about it now makes my skin feel scorched raw. “Turn up the volume?”

He does that and plays it again. “It sounds weird.”

“Everything sounds weird in this room.”

That makes him laugh. “Yeah, why is that?”

“Maybe it’s the acoustics.”

“Or maybe it’s your headphones.”

“Or maybe it’s your ears,” I say. Wonpil has one of those smiles that completely change the character of his face. At first glance, you’d think he was the cold and aloof type but then he smiles and you’d be left asking yourself why you even thought that in the first place. Then I lightly bump the legs of his swivel chair. “How do you write songs so fast? You come up with lyrics and a melody in one session.”

He shrugs and starts fidgeting with the controls again. “It’s easier when you’re with a team. It’s not like I sit on the keyboards and something magical happens as soon as I get to it. It’s days of banging on the keys until I find something that’s even remotely magical—why are we talking about this? You write songs just fine. You’re _good_ at it.”

“This team of yours,” I say, “your band?”

He nods. “And you’re ignoring the compliment again, aren’t you? You’re supposed to say _thank you_ , _I am good at it. Thanks Pil, you’re the best._ Not avoid it because you’re being too hard on yourself.”

I really am not.

“Give me that.” I nudge Wonpil away and take over the trackpad. I’m almost tempted to talk to him about what Professor Park said to me this afternoon and the results of latest evaluation but decide against it. Professor Park, Eric Nam, and Dr. Choi and her assistant, and now Park Sungjin were already too many people who know about what’s going on. 

“Is this about your Songwriting class?”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s just this assignment…and demos and this EP for our final project and I want to get the writing done so I can start on everything else. I just…want to do something _special_.”

When I was younger, I used to think writing was 80% of the process, and 10% each for recording and performing. Now, composing is 10% and the rest is recording, editing, mixing, and mastering. So far, I’ve submitted two songs each with a single verse and single chorus looped in an electronic dance mix. They’ve been…average at best. If I can submit something that can wow The Asian Soul even just a bit, then maybe he’ll believe me when I say I’m okay and he’ll leave me alone.

“Give me your brain for, like, five minutes maybe.”

Wonpil always sent me his demos before he started mixing them, and he let me listen to the album he’s been working on since the summer. His songs are vibrant and pop-py—so much more than I could ever write—but still engaging as it is dancey and sugar rush-y. Beneath all that fluff is sophisticated substance that targets your aural pleasure centers with deadly aim. Wonpil is just _good_.

"Or if you like, you can join us some time. Maybe you just really need to try something new. You know? Get out more and eavesdrop and look for stuff to write about.”

“I’ll think about it.” After tinkering with the controls, I play the track from the start. “How about this?”

Wonpil slaps my arm with the back of his hand. “I hate you. How are you so good at this?”

“Trial and error.”

“Seriously?” he laughs. And nudges my arm again. Not gently, mind you. “Come on. Laugh, will you? I feel like a crazy person when I’m the only one laughing and you’re just scowling at all the things.”

“I’m laughing on the inside.”

“Are you really?”

Working with Wonpil like this feels like working with Jae (and yes, admittedly the rest of the Sweg Crew). It feels…right somehow. It feels like I’m not a person hiding beneath three layers of clothes, fear, and diagnosable mental disorders. We work for another hour until we’re both happy with how our mix turned out.

“Do you mind if I stay a while?” I ask as Wonpil shrugs on his jacket. “I think I’m getting something and I want to write it down before I lose it.”

“Sure,” he answers. “Campus security doesn’t even bother checking this late anymore and the studios are open until, like, four a.m. This whole floor isn’t as fully booked as the others so have at it. You sure you don’t want to go with me to this dinner thing? We’re going bowling afterwards.”

“You’re the only I know there. It’s weird.”

“You know Jungyeon and Nayeon. Jaebum and Jinyoung will be there, too. Are you sure?”

“Maybe I’ll meet you guys a little later? Text me the place.”

“Okay. I promise, it’ll be fun!” Then he was gone.

The studio was perfectly quiet. Everyone else is somewhere else, having fun. Not working. I look at the monitors again, and hear Professor Park’s voice in my head. I’ll show him six never-before heard songs that showcase who I am as an artist. _I’ll show you_. _I’ll show all of you._

Every time Huiryong, or in the rare case Ayeon, broke up with a boy, they’d go out to a club and dance the night away. They’d go to wherever I was spinning for the night and afterwards they’d tell how much fun they had.

Joonyoung had a similar approach. When he’d get fired for not being conventional enough, when he’d get so frustrated with his bandmates and/or his music, when everything just got too intense, or when I’d act like a zombie we’d crawl around the underground clubs until the sun shone on us. Joonyoung would just show up, declare it Club Day and I’d watch him dance and shout out lyrics, whether or not he knew them, to whatever’s on stage. He’d do this until he felt better. Sometimes all it takes is one set, other times it would take a while and we’ve covered a trail of rock, to hip-hop, to trap, lo-fi, and to EDM.

I can do that too. I don’t need an audience or a stage to call it a rave, right? I can rave by myself. Okay, it sounds pathetic when I say it like that, but that’s not the point.

I check outside just to be sure. Wonpil was right, no one else seems to be around. I reach into my bad for my laptop and plug it into the mixer and the monitors. Then I turn the volume all the way up, put on my headphones (the left just barely covering my ear), and hit play.

I start raw. The right number of beats per minute and the right frequency is all you need to stimulate the effects of a twenty second hug. My intros never dwell, no getting to know stage, no easing in. No standing with your eyes closed, swaying to the music, and whispering the lyrics. This is my antidote. The right kind of medicine for any frustration. No anger, no indigence, just the aural equivalent of standing under an explosion of colors and light. A steady thumping bass line crawling into your brain, razor-sharp prog synths, and then a moment of euphoria that drags you down a rabbit hole that goes up into the clouds.

After a few songs, I’m banging my head, singing the words, and jumping into the fray.

That’s when I hear banging not from my monitors.

Thinking it’s security, I pull my headphones off and rush to the door ready to show my permit and student ID.

It’s Sungjin.

Life’s a joke, and I’m the punchline. “Why are you everywhere?”

He says something, but I don’t hear it over the music.

“What?” I yell.

“I said, this is you?” he said over the music. Smiling. If he’s not making weird faces, he’s smiling. Always smiling. He’s wearing his grey hoodie, zipped nearly all the way up. He wasn’t wearing it this afternoon. It looks strange with his black button-down. Or maybe that’s just because he’s buttoned his shirt all the way to the collar. Ridiculous.

“What’s me?”

He points to his ear, then vaguely around the room. Then he mimics a DJ on his turntables. I sincerely hope I don’t look that ridiculous. “This is _you_?”

“You see anyone else in here?” I’m trying not to pant, or even make it look like I’m out of breath. I have to pace myself, otherwise I’d make myself sick. Feeling anything in excess makes me sick. Literally. I throw up. Not pretty.

Sungjin leans closer, I guess so he won’t have to shout? “I think I get it now.”

 _Get what_? I want to ask. But what I want more is to make him leave.

“You’re good.”

“Go away.” I push the door shut. 

Sungjin stops it with his hand. “Wait, no. What are you doing?” He steps inside and looks around. Still smiling.

I open my mouth for something sarcastic, but I lean my head back and swallow the retort. It doesn’t matter. Whatever. Sungjin won’t stop until he gets a reasonable enough answer. But then, at this point, there might not be a line between reasonable and ridiculous. “I’m in the middle of a rave. Now go away.”

“By yourself?”

“Again, do you see anyone else?”

“No, “ Sungjin pushes the door open and steps in. “I mean, where’s your mosh pit?”

“What?”

“You’re the DJ, where’s your mosh pit? You need an audience.”

I close the door behind him and rest my head on the surface. I now regret not going with Wonpil tonight. If I had, I would have probably completely avoided this situation. Having to _people_ is still a better alternative to this.

Sungjin is nodding to the music. 

I nod, too. And take my spot back behind my laptop and the mixer. And put on my headphones.

Then, as if he’s possessed, Sungjin begins….dancing? It’s more like drunken monkey, awkward limbs flapping, hips thrusting and swaying, jumping, and head banging. I’m just watching him, too shocked to even process this. But Sungjin doesn’t seem to notice, he just keeps moving to the synths, eyes closed and singing along to the chorus. I feel it in my toes first. Then it goes up to my knees, then my hips. Then my shoulders.

I dance with him, arms raised.

When Sungjin looks at me, he’s laughing. I laugh, too. He’s a terrible dancer. So bad, I actually feel good about myself. But he just…doesn’t care? He’s busting out moves my grandmother would be proud of, going all out with the arm movements and failed attempts at popping and locking and krumping. His eyes are so bright, so filled with mirth. Brighter than I’ve ever seen on anyone or anything.

So we dance. Together. Not together _together_. Just in the same place, at the same time. Sungjin does not run out of goofy moves, or equally goofy faces. Even his eyebrows seemed to be dancing. On their own. His eyebrows are sentient. They must be.

Eventually, my playlist runs out and it fades to a stop. Sungjin’s breathing is heavy in between his laughs, and he makes these old people noises as he sinks to the floor and on his back. I lay back next to him. Not _really_ next to him. Just looking at him. At his gaping lips and at the way his chest rises and falls. He turns his head to the side, and I don’t look away.

“Who're you again?”

I laugh. 

Sungjin’s grin mellows into a soft smile.

I smile back. Until I remember I’m supposed to be upset at him. Then I frown. Or I try to. “What are you even doing here?”

Sungjin’s eyebrows pull together. “I thought we’re raving?”

I reach over and hit his arm. “How long have you been following me around, you creep.”

“What are you talking about? When did I follow you around?”

“Is that why you’re everywhere? Because Professor Park—“

“Wait, what are you talking about? What’s the professor got to do with anything?”

“The…the thing…this afternoon…”

He closes his eyes, maybe to compose his thoughts. “Don’t remind me. It’s bad enough you’re my student.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“For the record, I haven’t been following you around. Okay? That’s just creepy. And I have no idea what you’re talking about right now. When I first met you, I had no idea you’d be my student. Much less…”

“Much less what?”

Sungjin sighs. “All I know is Professor Park’s concerned with your wellbeing. But that’s all I know, I swear. This afternoon, just after you left, all he said was you might come into the lab one day and if that happens, I’m in charge.”

I move forward, searching his eyes for any sign of deception. Nothing. Sungjin is telling the truth. I think I’d prefer it if he were lying. “What did you say?”

“I said,” and he smiles a little, “that he can’t make you do something just because he tells you to.”

I feel as if there’s more. I _know_ there’s more. “That’s it?”

He nods.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t,” he says. “My studio is across the hall. I heard the party. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing.” I get up. I take a second to wait for the vertigo to ease away. “None of your business.”

He laughs. And then runs his hands through his hair. Dude, I get it. Your hair is soft and fluffy and deserves its own mention at every given opportunity. Sungjin pushes himself up on his elbows. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I reach out for my phone, just so I don’t have to focus on the way Sungjin is looking at me. I have missed calls and messages from Ayeon. I read her messages first.

“YOU’RE AT HOME RIGHT? CALL ME I NEED YOU ASAP”

“ANSWER YOUR PHONE”

“WHY DO YOU NEVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE”

“CATHARSIS ASAP. IT’S AN EMERGENCY.”

Something twists painfully in my gut. With shaking fingers, I call Ayeon but I keep getting redirected to voicemail.

“Are you okay?” Sungjin asks.

“Ah…I…I’m not sure.” I can’t even begin to think about the kinds of emergencies Ayeon could get into. Catharsis is a club just off campus. As far as clubs go, it’s exactly the kind you’d get mega wasted in as soon as you’re legal. “I need to get to Catharsis.”

Sungjin is already standing up. “Not alone, you are.”

 

***

 

I haven’t been here in nearly eight months. Catharsis is set up so it looks as if it opens from a literal hole in the wall. The entrance is set in a narrow alleyway between two commercial clubs, and the lines go down the street all the way to the corner on Friday nights. Parking? Don’t even think about it.

“So what now?” Sungjin asks.

I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to stay, but the look on his face shuts me up. “Just…follow me.”

“Uhm,” he says, as we head to the door. “I think the end of the line is that way.”

“I know.”

The big guy standing guard looks up just as I step into his line of sight. The girls—all made up, sparkly dresses, and heels—who are waiting in line also look up from their phones. Too many people looking. _Too many people_. I falter for a step. My heart is pounding in my ears and the blood is rushing to my head. The last time I was here…

Sungjin appears next to me, glancing up at the signs on the buildings, and briefly, worriedly, at the queue of fifty or so people in varied states of drunkenness. “Hey, do you know what you’re doing?”

I shake it off. Ayeon needs me.

I pull off my hood and step under a neon light. “Jo, hi.”

“Hey you, long time no see.” He tosses his head towards the entrance. “Go on in.”

As we go down the stairs, Sungjin leans close enough to ask, “Who are you, really?”

Gradually, the music increases in volume and intensity as we descend the steps. A couple of giggling girls spill out of the entry way at the foot of the stairs, and Sungjin presses himself flat against the wall to let them pass. One of the girls blow him a kiss. I mentally roll my eyes.

Where could Ayeon be? Her last message was thirty-five minutes ago. Is she in trouble? Did something happen to her? What if it’s Huiryong? Were they together? Could one of the be wasted? Passed out? Physically hurt? Or both of them?

There’s no one on stage at the moment so the crowd has dispersed to their designated corners, but even so the middle dance pit is still filled with people pressed shoulder to shoulder, heads bobbing to Trap music.

I feel Sungjin’s hand on the small of my back. “I’m gonna lose you in this crowd. Where’s your friend?”

Ayeon and Huiryong usually hang out by the bar when they’re not dancing. I start towards that direction, and then as an afterthought, reach behind me to grab on to Sungjin’s sleeve and pull him with me. I try not to think about it. Not the way I feel him warm behind me.

I find my roommate sitting on a tall barstool. Looking perfectly fine.

“Baek Ayeon!”

“You’re here!” Ayeon nearly spills her bottled water as she puts it down. She hops off her seat and throws her arms around me. “Yes! Just on time.”

“What are you talking about?” I think I sound like I’m about to cry, but I’m not sure. “You said you had an emergency!”

“I do!” she wails into my ear. “My front act got into trouble, like, an hour ago—stupid drunk kids—and now I need someone to start the show before the band. I need you!”

I feel sick again. My stomach is making impossible knots and they’re making their way up to my throat in cotton and thorns. My eyes are burning.

Ayeon takes my hand. “Come on!”

I pull back and bump into someone—Sungjin—and tug my hand away.

“Sorry!” Ayeon says to him. Then she rights me and says, “Please? I really need you. Just this once?”

_Can’t you call someone else? There has to be someone else. I can call someone else for you. There’s always someone else._

I work my mouth to speak, but my lips are frozen shut. Ayeon’s mouth is moving but I don’t hear a thing. It’s happening again, and I’m losing. I can’t let _this_ win. Not anymore. But before I can say anything, Ayeon whirls back towards the bar, turns back to me one last time, before disappearing off with someone I think is her direct supervisor.

Sungjin takes me by the sleeve and leads me out of the club.

“I’m hungry,” he says when we get to the sidewalk. He’s still yelling even though we can barely hear the music anymore. “Let’s go eat.”

 

***

 

I keep waiting for Sungjin to ask about Catharsis or Ayeon or about my solo rave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he talks about how he discovered this place—Mrs. Lee’s, a cross between a snack shop and a convenience store—that one time he was out on his nightly bike rides. He took a wrong turn, he says. He thinks he was subconsciously following the scent of food. Then he goes off tangent musing out loud if maybe  _unconscious_ was the proper word he was looking for.

Every now and then the storekeeper keeps coming to refill our water and our tea, and every time Sungjin offers her a large smile and snippets of conversation. Something about her son, her niece, and the weather. He calls this lady The Other Mrs Lee, as _The_ Mrs. Lee is already in her seventies and doesn’t work nights anymore. The Other Mrs Lee is her daughter-in-law, he explains.

The walk back is quiet.

“Thanks,” I mutter, when we get back to my building. It’s the crack of dawn, just about enough light to color the city grey. “For not asking.”

Sungjin smiles just as the first yellow ray of light pushes through the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

Saturday afternoon and I had the apartment all to myself for the weekend. 

Huiryong is visiting her parents and Ayeon is away for an out of the city work thing. At least that’s what it says on the messages they sent to my phone this morning before they left. I woke up a little after noon to an unnaturally quiet space. Metaphorical space. Huiryong and Ayeon would play music in the mornings, if not that then someone would be watching something on their computers, or they’d be talking to each other and banging loudly at furniture as they went about. Lately, there’s been more of silence. And it was beginning to get too loud.

I’m trying to work on my songs, but I keep drifting back to last night. Why are the worst nights of your life always at a 24-hour delay? What benefit could there possibly be to reliving yesterday’s worst moments today?

Granted, this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but Ayeon is one of the best things that’s ever happened to my life and I couldn’t risk letting her down. But it seems, that’s all I’ve ever been. A disappointment.

This time last year, I would be on my way to Catharsis to set up for the night’s DJing gig. For about a year, I worked three nights a week, taking any job I could get booked for, but Friday and Saturday nights at Catharsis were the best. It’s where Kitty Kat really took off and instead of begging floor managers to let me spin, promoters began coming to me. Huiryong and Ayeon helped me set up my press kit, and Joonyoung introduced me to all the club managers and promoters he knew. I wasn't just writing and mixing music because I liked doing it, or playing for college parties anymore. After my first night at Catharsis, I’ve gotten a substantial following which is more than I could have ever imagined.

I had an audience who came to see me play, clients interested in booking me for events, and a big summer festival invitation to perform. But this came with people expecting things from my shows and questioning the creative directions I took. Some would trash me on social media, saying my style had changed too much, that I’ve become too fluffy and too mainstream. That I used to be good, but have since lost the magic.

“Get over yourself,” Joonyoung would say, crawling into the curb outside the convenience store with me at three in the morning and taking my phone away. “You don’t owe anyone anything. You should stay away from social media. It’s bad for your health.”

“They’re saying my songs have become formulaic. And flat. That I should probably find a mentor because my days as an overrated kid with a laptop are over.”

“You’ll still be a kid with a laptop tomorrow.”

“Maybe I really am a one-hit wonder. What if my best work is already behind me?”

“I just said you’re still a kid with a laptop. You’re barely legal. You have six more decades to figure out what you want to do with your music.”

“They said tonight’s set was underperformed and unoriginal.”

“Life itself is underperformed and unoriginal.”

In a manner of speaking, Joonyoung was right, though I was reluctant to believe him. At the time, I felt as if I didn’t get to do everything at that moment, then I’d lose whatever it is people saw in my music. I thought I was finally being heard, that I was finally loud enough for people to pay attention. It’s ironic. I finally get the attention I crave, and it’s exactly the disaster I didn’t need or want.

 _You’re going to save music_ , someone once commented on my page. I tried not to let it get to my head. Music saved _me_ , after all. I knew even then that in the grand scale of things, I was nobody. I may have allowed myself to think that I was on the way to becoming somebody, but Joonyoung kept me grounded. He didn’t even have to do anything. I’d just look at him, remind myself that he’s so much better than I am, and if anyone deserves the attention, it’s Joonyoung.

On nights like these, after a gig or sometimes just out of the blue, Joonyoung and I would stay up late just talking about his music—I was as in love with his music as I was with him. I loved hearing his dark _basso cantante._   It was more than enough to distract me from obsessing over the criticism and the pressure to do well in class. Joonyoung would just show up, steal me away from my composing or my studying, and we’d listen to each other knowing we’d never grow tired of talking about the same things over and over again.

Or anyway, that’s what I thought at the time.

 _I’m sorry about last night,_ I start to write in a message for Ayeon. I’ll end up saving this as a draft to go over and over again before actually sending it. If I even send it at all.

_I’m just not ready yet. I wasn’t ready, I didn’t even have proper material with me._

It all sounds like an excuse.

I delete the message and turn off my phone screen.

I turn off all the lights. Close all the drapes. Check if the door is locked.

I sit back on my desk. Check my phone. Pull up a new message. Type a word. Delete.

I open up my digital audio workstation. Close it again.

I check if the door is locked.

Shut down my computer.

Switch off my phone.

I climb into bed and lay face down on the covers.

The Best of My Worst begins in 3…2…1…

 

***

“Did you finish our song yet?”

Our song. _Siren_. Wonpil wrote the lyrics and composed the melody. My job is to arrange and transform the song into a solid demo. We’re doing this outside of class now, writing together just because. We’re (as in myself, Wonpil, and Dowoon) somewhere in the quad because Wonpil likes it outside. I asked if we could meet at the studio instead, but he was adamant that getting enough sunshine would be good for my health. _You need fresh air and sunlight_ , he said. Debatable, in my opinion, but what’s the point in arguing with Wonpil?

“I’m still working on it,” I say, conscious of Dowoon’s presence. _Siren_ is a song about summer, something about the sand and the waves, something about you and me. Wonpil recorded the demo vocals, but we both agree that it might sound better with a female voice. Usually, I get Ayeon to sing for me, but we haven’t really spoken about the other night yet. She’s been her usual self towards me, but I still didn’t feel right.

“I really want a guitar riff at the start and then a solo somewhere before the bridge. But I can’t guitar,” I say.

“I know someone who can help you with that.”

“It’s okay, I have a someone I can consult.” I’ll ask Jae. Better to ask Jae than meet any one of Wonpil’s many friends and acquaintances.

“But I really think you’d get along with this guy.”

I shake my head and turn to watch a couple of guys—I think Jackson might be one of them—play frisbee on the grass. “This isn’t your roommate, is it?”

“Yes. I really think you’ll like him.”

“I’m really starting to think there’s this propaganda to get me to meet people. What do _you_ get out of this?”

Wonpil has the audacity to look offended. “You need more friends. Meet new people.”

“I really don’t.”

Dowoon nods, as if he knows exactly what I’m going through. Wonpil has been dragging him around everywhere like his shiny new toy. I want to feel bad for him, but sometimes when Dowoon thinks no one is looking, I see him smiling to himself. I thought I imagined it when we recorded the drums for our demo last week, but it’s been consistent for the past four times we’ve seen each other.

“Have _you_ been meeting new people?” I ask Dowoon.

Surprised, Dowoon looks up. “Not on purpose.”

“See?” I say to Wonpil, “you can’t just drag people around and force them to meet new people.”

“Why not?” Wonpil whines. He thinks this works on everybody. It probably does, but again that’s not the point. Wonpil is the kind of person who comes into your life unannounced and stays there, and you’re just going to have to accept it. I’ve come to terms with my losses, but I still really need to work. “We should all be friends anyway. There’s enough room for everyone. What are you doing this weekend?”

“Homework.”

“That’s no fun. Come see our band practice? Maybe give us an unbiased third-party objective opinion?”

Dowoon is just looking back and forth at us, eyes bouncing like a tennis ball.

“I really need to work on my demos.”

“It’ll be fun.”Wonpil gives me his winning smile. “Please?”

I look down at my watch. I have songwriting in two minutes. I am ten minutes away from the lecture room. “I’m gonna be late for class.”

 

***

I stand outside the classroom, back pressed against the wall, convincing myself to just open the door and walk in. Truthfully, the idea of marching into class just like that, garnering the unwanted attention of twenty people and Professor Park, terrifies me. I’d open the door, it would creak, and all eyes would be on me until I reach my desk. Time would move eternally slow, and my steps would be heavier than the last. By the time I reach my seat, everyone would already have made up some story about me.

I can consider skipping class, but that will only get Professor Park asking for my whereabouts. It will also only make it worse the next time I face Professor Park. I wish I can skip the rest of the semester, but that’s what got me in trouble in the first place. I should really just get it over with.

“Did anything happen?” Professor Park had asked in the hospital.

I was so ashamed so I just shook my head. How pathetic must I have been, no parents and no one on my emergency contact list. Ayeon volunteered. But at that time, I didn’t think I’d need it, and I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

“Are you sure you’re not having any problems at home?”

 _No._  

“Is it the workload?”

_No._

“Radio?”

“No, not radio.”

“Then what is it?”

I couldn’t explain it then, I couldn’t explain it now. I don’t think I ever could find the the words because I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I barely even remember half of what happened that semester. All I know was that there were days I could barely make it out of bed, and days where I could barely open my eyes.

“The doctor said you don’t remember anything about tonight either.”

That was a lie. I knew what I was doing. One could even say I had planned it, in a manner of speaking. “It was an accident,” I had said. “Sorry.”

I was put on a mental health break after that. Not that I had any other plans over the winter break other than radio. If I managed to explain my would-be absence to the Sweg Crew, then I can definitely walk into class with a semblance of sanity.

But maybe after a minute. Or two.

Someone stands in front of me, and I glance up from the floor. Sungjin smiles in greeting.

“What are you doing out here?” He’s wearing a black cotton button-down over a faded black shirt and I’m starting to think he doesn’t own any other color clothes. Was he emo in his younger days? Younger? I don’t even know how old he is exactly. He acts like someone’s uncle in class sometimes, and he makes old man noises when he sits down or gets up, but he can’t be over twenty-five. Other than the stack of papers in one hand and Atom across his shoulder, Sungjin’s just Sungjin. As if The Other Night didn’t happen.

“I was…” I look back down at my shoes. “I was just on my way in.”

He laughed. “So you weren’t kicked out of class?”

I barely even register that.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Sungjin shrugs. “You weren’t, the last time.”

“I’m fine.”

He leans into the door and it cracks open. “Okay, then why aren’t you coming in?”

“I was about to…” I can’t even look him in the eye. We’ve seen each other in class the past two weeks, but I never stayed in the room to make conversation. I barely look at him when he fills in for Professor Park.

Sungjin holds the door open for me with his arm. “You’re late, by the way.”

“You think?” I mutter.

As expected, Professor Park and the class divert their attention to me as I walk in. I keep my head down and swallow the ill feelings swirling in my gut. One foot after the other—

“Watch out!”

I barely make it out of the way when the stack of papers in Sungjin’s hands come flying beside me. He laughs at himself, apologizes to the class, and I make a quick run to my seat while he’s picking up our quizzes. But when I get to my spot, I notice that my seatmates are all wrong. I’m in the right class, but everyone’s paired off and scattered across the room. Some of them with guitars on the steps, others at the far back, a few remained in their seats, and a lucky pair on the only piano in the room.

“Today’s activity is collaboration,” Professor Park explains, “you’re an odd numbered class so pair up with Sungjin so he can catch you up.” Then to the rest of the class he says, “Your love songs are due in a week. Sungjin’s in charge. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

I sink into my desk. Just my luck.

“So it’s you and me,” Sungjin says, taking the seat next to me and settling Atom across his lap. “You didn’t miss out on much. Do you want me to go over the professor’s introduction?”

I bring out my computer and pull up a template on my DAW. “I guess?”

Sungjin recaps the first ten minutes of class while I avoid eye contact and unnecessary interaction. “So how do you want to do this?” he asks, after he’s done.

“I don’t know…I don’t even know what you sound like.”

“Of course you do, I sing in class all the time.”

I keep my eyes on my laptop. “That’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t know what kind of music you like or do or write. Or…anything about you. That’s relevant to this activity.”

“Well I’m not supposed to really help you. So we’ll do it according to what you want, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

Uncomfortable silence descends between us.

“You’d think we’d be past this by now.”

“Past what?” I ask, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

He raises a brow. Or maybe it does that on its own. “This awkwardness.”

“What awkwardness?”

“Really? After the other night? You still can’t look at me?”

My eyes dart around the room in case someone can overhear. “What are you talking about? Don’t talk about it like that.”

He laughs. “Are you embarrassed of the beautiful night we spent together?”

I kick the toe of his sneakers. Is he out of his mind? What if someone heard him and got the wrong idea? Isn’t he a TA? Aren’t there rules for that kind of stuff? “What beautiful night?”

“I’m pretty sure we were at a rave, went to save a damsel who wasn’t really in distress who disappeared without leaving you a glass slipper, and then you took me out to dinner. So it was pretty eventful for me. Not sure how it was for you. How are you, really?”

I stop messing around with my template. “Fine. I’m fine. I’m exactly as I always am, see? Thanks for doing all that stuff. You really didn’t have to.”

I thanked him then, too. But I guess I owe him a bit more. Just because I kept him the whole night and he had to go through the entire mess with no idea what’s going on. I brought him to Catharsis. Sungjin’s probably never even set foot in a club.

“Again, we’re past that. Forget about it. What did your friend need you for anyway?”

“It’s not important.”

He gives me a look. 

“Anymore,” I add. I go back to dragging and dropping my usual layers of kicks and bass. “Not important anymore. It’s nothing. Can we just work on the exercise?”

He nods. “So what do you usually write?”

“Don’t you listen to the songs we submit in class?”

“I do, but that’s three songs out of hundreds maybe. I know you write EDM, but that’s about it.”

“Are you saying my songs have no meaning?”

“I’m not saying that,” he answers, running his hand through his hair. It’s getting long. He really needs to get a haircut. But maybe not very soon. “I’m just saying, when you compose, don’t you usually start with an idea? Maybe?”

“How does it work for you?”

He shrugs. “I usually just play around with some chords first, get a sketch of something that sounds good and then let it grow organically from there. And I listen to other people’s conversations. For science.”

I laugh. “Right. Purely an intellectual curiosity.”

“So what kind of love song do you want to write?”

“Something impressive.” Enough to get me off the hook for the rest of the semester. “You know, for a love song.”

He scoffs good-naturedly. "For a love song. What's that supposed to mean? What about what’s in your heart?”

I scoff back at him. “Says the guy who eavesdrops to get ideas for lyrics.”

“It’s called living vicariously. And I don’t make the assignments. I just make sure everyone’s accounted for.”

“What are you, actually? Are you a student here?“

“I’m a grad student. Professor Park’s my program adviser and my boss.” His eyes sparkle and I look away. “You know you’re supposed to submit a progress report at the end of the class, right? Progress. Make it.”

I pull up a recent project that I’ve been playing around with. “I hate love songs. I especially hate that every class every semester I have to write one.”

He laughs. Again. “Everybody loves love songs.”

My response comes in a level glare. A mostly level glare. Sungjin’s ridiculous and his face is ridiculous, and looking at him makes me want to hit his face with a heavy blunt object. “Not everybody.”

“Sure. It’s not as if every song isn’t about love. From certain points of view they all are. It’s a pretty broad spectrum.”

I roll my eyes and pull up a folder of my works in progress. “Whatever. Okay. Love song.”

“Let’s hear it,” he says, leaning forward to peer into my screen. “What’s the last love song you wrote?”

“What for?”

“I’m curious.”

“No.”

His eyes crinkle at the sides. “Come on. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Admittedly, hearing Sungjin sing is almost worth the effort of letting him listen to one of my songs. But how much do I actually want to hear him sing? It’s not like he’s going to grade me on this, or that I need to find a suitable enough song that would impress him. But that’s not really the point. The point is Sungjin is still an audience, and an audience of one is far worse than an audience of a hundred faceless people melded together in a mosh pit. I don’t need or want this kind of attention.

I sigh and scroll through my folder. “Fine.” I pick a song, something I wrote last summer, and connect my headphones. “Here.”

Sungjin puts them on and nods for me to press play. Then he closes his eyes. I can’t believe I'm actually doing this, but it’s too late to change my mind.

 

> _What if all we have is tonight_
> 
> _What if I lose you in the morning light_
> 
> _What if this is a dream_
> 
> _And you fade away in the morning_
> 
> _What if this is my last chance to hold you close_
> 
> _And in the daylight I have to let you go_
> 
> _What if this is a dream_
> 
> _A_ _nd you fade away in the morning_

 

Even with his eyes shut, Sungjin's face is expressive as ever. I think it's his eyebrows. The lines on his face, the kind you get from smiling too much too often, twitch now and then. His mouth curved like the number three on its side sometimes when he’s switching chords as he plays. Right now it’s set in a line, and I’d see a flash of his bunny teeth at certain points of the song. When it’s over, he opens his eyes and hands me back my headphones.

“And you say you don’t like love songs,” he says, trying not to smile so hard.

“Shut up.”


	9. Chapter 9

Professor Park takes his time getting back to us with feedback for the latest song we submitted. This is only inconvenient because it provides me no reference point for the kind of work I want to put forward by the end of the semester. He says write from the heart. Write about what’s important to us. Write honestly. Sincerely. Bravely. He expects us to just pry open our ribs, find the sheet music scrolled inside and make it loud and sterling in clarity so the world can hear us. I don’t think he really knows what he’s talking about.

In any case, the radio silence is partly a relief because I don’t want to know what he thinks of my work. It’s bad enough I’ve received anonymous hate over the internet in the past. Whatever he has to say can be argued as constructive criticism, but that's not really the point. Sungjin hasn’t said anything either, but that’s also because I didn’t ask him about it. And I won’t ever ask him about it.

Unfortunately, Songwriting isn’t the only class I need to write for.

“Jae.”

We’re at the studio, Thursday night. Jae has chosen tonight’s playlist and is currently strumming to a song from at least five decades before we were born. His arrangement is updated, a little more hip and with a lazy beach life vibe to it. I couldn’t stop listening to him. This is Jae, a study in contrasts: he’s laid-back but focused, effortlessly charming and unexpectedly so, larger than life but also afraid of it.

It’s so…quintessentially Jae.

“Yeah?” he answers absently.

I take a much needed breath to steel my nerves. “Am I allowed to ask for a favor?”

“Kitty Kat, you and I are _way_ past that. What’s up.”

“I need someone on guitar. For a thing.”

Jae stops strumming and leans forward. “Is this what I think this is?”

I’m almost sorry I brought it up. Jae used to be the first to hear my new music. Though I trust nothing else about him, I trust his taste in music. During the first year we worked together, we exchanged recommendations almost on a daily basis. Through all the misses and hits, and though we do completely different styles, we evolved together through sound, musical soulmates if you will.

“No,” I tell him. “Not exactly. It’s not mine. I’m just doing arrangements for this class and I thought a guitar solo would be good.”

He eyes me for a moment, then says “Yeah, I’ll do it. No problem. Just tell me when and where.”

This is where it gets tricky because in no way or form do I want any of the subsets of my life to overlap. Just thinking about Jae and Wonpil meeting already makes it an intergalactic disaster waiting to happen. The way I see it, Jae and Wonpil could either be the best of friends of the worst of enemies. I have no doubt Jae would have absolutely no patience for Wonpil’s antics, and this is exactly the fuel Wonpil needs to keep annoying him.

And Jae…Jae knows too much. Despite the fact that we’ve only ever significantly interacted inside the station, Jae already knows far more than any of the others. Perhaps even more than my roommates. Because Jae was there when it happened. Both _It_ s. He was there when It happened at Catharsis, and he was also there when I ended up at the Infirmary. The former by chance, and the latter by choice.

I was supposed to show up for our shift that night after my visit to the Associate Dean’s office, and the nurse answered his repeated calls. He had to pretend to be my boyfriend in order to stay with me at the clinic. I owe him more than he’s willing to claim. With reservations.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“I know. Will you go out with Bob?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he whines.

“Why do you keep asking?”

Jae pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. As far as I can tell, he owns quite a collection of glasses, none of which are corrective, and none of which should belong to this decade. But this one, the rectangular tortoise shell frames with the metal top bar is his favorite. “If I tell you why, will you at least consider it? I mean really think about it?”

“I guess?” I owe him that much. Even if every fiber of my being is against this.

“Say what you will of me and the kind of people you _think_ I associate with but Bob is a perfectly nice guy. I cannot stress this enough. He’s a gentleman, exactly the kind of guy you take home to Mom and Dad, even your grandmother and seven generations of your ancestors will approve of him—“

“What’s the catch, Jae?”

Jae charges forward, short of grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. I’ve never seen Jae’s eyes grow this big before. In his most solemn voice, he whispers, “He’s driving me insane.”

I knew it was too good to be true. “See, this is why I don’t trust you.”

“That is a faulty generalization. What you mean is you don’t trust me with dating recommendations.”

“Actually, I meant in general.”

“Kitty Kat, my Kitty Kat, you gotta trust me on this. Bob will be so good to you, and you’ll be good for Bob, and he’ll stop nagging and he’ll stop making me polish my guitars and clean up the studio and arrange the amps by brand and size. And I swear if I have to color code all the cords and inputs again I am going to throw a rockstar fit—okay no, instruments are expensive, man. I’m going…well I’m going to think of something and I’ll do it and it’ll be _good_.”

“You can hard sell Bob all you want, but I’m not going out with him for your benefit.”

“Excuse you.” He has the audacity to look offended. “If romance blossoms from this fated meeting, then you’re welcome.”

“How is it fated when you orchestrated it?”

“That’s besides the point. The point is, is that a yes?”

“That’s a no.”

“Is that a no with reservations?”

“That’s a solid no.”

“You gotta give me room to negotiate here.”

“You should have started with a better argument.”

“How much better can this argument get? He’s gonna be so good to you, and you’ll be good to him, and he’ll leave me alone. That’s two—three birds in one stone!”

“It sounds to me that your pushing your agenda here at the expense of my dignity.”

“How is this damaging to your dignity?” Jae’s laughing doesn’t really help his case. But this is the best kind of Jae so I’ll let him off easy. “I’m looking out for your happiness! And it just so happens to coincide with my sanity. This incidental fact should not be taken for granted, instead we must take full advantage of it.”

“Jae…”

“Fine. Okay. How’s this. We have a gig at Catharsis. Do you maybe want to see us play and then decide if you’re willing to let me set you up with Bob in a manner that would appear serendipitous and in no way at all contrived?”

“Why can’t you just do it like a normal person?”

“Because Bob believes in destiny and that kind of shit, okay? So, check him out at Catharsis and then if you like what you see, we’re doing the Thing.”

Why does everything lead back to Catharsis?

“Hey.” Jae reaches out, but his hand just hangs in the air before retreating back to the neck of his guitar. “It’s been a year. No one’s gonna remember about what happened. Are you still not okay?”

It’s been seven months, three weeks, and five days since the universe decided to unload its worst upon me. I tell myself it’s nothing. I tell myself the same thing everyone has told me in the aftermath. _It’s not a big deal_. _Get over it_. _There are worse things._ There are, I’m sure. They tell me my shame is small, and I believe them that it is easy to dismiss. And it’s that guilt that leads the downward spiral.

My fingers are in my hair before I know it, and I feel the tug in my scalp and the fire beneath my lids. Jae’s voice fades away into the background. The thing about your monsters is that just when you’ve convinced yourself that you’ve stepped far away enough from their shadows and into the light, that when all you see of your nemesis is a tiny spot in the clear blue distance, that’s the exact moment when its arms will reach out from behind you, cover your eyes and drag you back into the dark.

I should have seen all the signs before I even got to Catharsis that night. Joonyoung and I had already been in an awkward phase days before this. This was after I kissed him. We had been sitting outside the convenience store just a little before dawn when it happened. I was upset. Like me, my music has been called names, too. But it was also because there are bad days when even though I say I’m alright, I’m okay, I’m not. I couldn’t put into words what was wrong with me. I told him it wasn’t just the music, because he knew as well I did that words are just words and like that rhyme goes they shouldn’t hurt me. 

It frustrated Joonyoung, and he kept saying “That’s doesn’t make sense. You can’t be sad for no reason. They’re just anonymous comments. Don’t look at them and just do what you do. If this is what you want, you have to really fight it, you know? Just be you.”

Joonyoung isn’t the only who told to stand up for myself. Stand up for your music. But how was I supposed to stand up for my music when I didn't even know who I was? But this was a conversation that we’ve had before, and entire days of arguments were replayed in the heavy silence between us. There were no more words left to say that hadn’t been said too many times in the past.

All I wanted was comfort so I kissed him thinking if the words aren’t enough, then maybe the music will take over.

It didn’t.

But Joonyoung didn’t pull away, and I thought I was on the verge of a breakthrough.

I should have seen the signs. Joonyoung stopped calling, stopped showing up, and when I’d text him he’s respond hours later with a single word, two at most. But we were playing that same night at Catharsis and I had convinced myself we were just both confused about what happened. I thought I’d downplay the situation and tell him we could go back to normal. I searched for him just before my set. I remember the trap music playing, the magenta lights swinging overhead, and the push of people dancing in groups. I headed straight for the back room. Joonyoung liked the small corridor space, said it focused his attention on what was important.

That’s where I found him. Joonyoung was leaning back against the wall. On one hand, he had a beer. His other hand was tangled in some girl’s long hair, pressing her against him. In the small flickers of light filtering through the darkness, I could see that he was smiling. Like he enjoyed it. Made it look like this was how a kiss should be like. Somehow I just knew that this wasn’t how our kiss had been like.

I didn’t cry. Or hide. Instead, I channelled all my feelings into the tips of my fingers where I had all the power. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that I’ve finally held myself together in a situation where I’d normally crumble. But broken people fall to pieces, that’s just what they do. I suffered another breakdown. In the middle of the Catharsis stage. With all the lights, and all the stares, and all the whispers that erupted in the faceless sea of people who came to enjoy the show.

Now everyone knows how messed up I am. Since then, I've learned to hide my music under my bed. This is the irony of me: wanting to be heard but not knowing how to be loud. So this is me, trying to put myself back together yet refusing to look at myself to see if I’ve put everything back in its proper place. I’d only see the reminders that I survived, but only just.

Jae is also good at not talking about things. The night he came to find me at the infirmary, we sat together listening to the static from the fluorescent lights. We couldn’t pretend that nothing happened because he could see it with his eyes, and Jae isn’t anyone’s fool. But as long as he asked no questions, I gave no answers.

So that’s what we do until our shift is over. That’s what we do when we wordlessly agree to getting breakfast together even though our orders are less for eating and more as a means to buy ourselves more time at the diner. When it’s time to get to class, we leave.

“I’m sorry,” Jae mutters as we linger outside the family restaurant.

“It’s not your fault.”

It was mine.


	10. Chapter 10

I’m too early for Songwriting so I wait on one of the benches outside the lecture hall. I sit with both my feet up and tucked beneath me, my back wedged against the corner between the backrest and the armrest, headphones on and listening to the best of my adolescent years. It’s bubble pop as bubblegum pop goes: cute, fluffy, and unapologetically saccharine. It’s nothing like the music I write— I don’t want to hear anything like it, afraid that it might affect my creative process. The last thing I want is to sound like someone else especially because _I_ have _no idea_ what _I_ want to sound like. So I listen to anything else. Literally anything else. Usually I listen to alternative rock, or even hip-hop and RnB. But today feels likes one of those days.

Listening to pop oldies now feels like an open act of rebellion against the the underground system that demands originality and authenticity. Maybe this is what it really means to be punk rock: buying into the system, acknowledging and accepting what makes you feel good and not giving a shit.

Jae might know a thing or two about that.

But the truth is I’ve had more not-conversations with Jae to last me a lifetime. Despite Jae always having too much to say, neither of us were comfortable _talking_ when it matters _._ Never when it counts. We"d both rather ignore the situation than have honest and sincere conversation. Sometimes, when the silence has taken over, I begin to think we’re having mental conversations about the things we’ll never say. I appreciate that he never asks, but one day I just might end up a mess of word-vomit and I know he won’t know how to take it. And it’ll be awkward.

In my head, I’ve already had this conversation with Jae.

“Do you think I’m taking too long to move on?” I’ll ask. We’ll likely be at the studio, in our designated spots. Jae will have his guitar across his lap, and I’ll be curled up in my executive chair.

Jae will shrug. “Do you think you are?”

“It’s been almost a year.”

“A year _is_ a long time.”

“So you do think I’m taking too long to move on.”

“I’m not saying that,” Jae will say. “I’m just saying a year is a long time for things to happen.”

“It’s also a long time for things to not happen.”

“I really don’t know what you want me to say, Kitty Kat.” And he’ll be right.

Sometimes I’d have this conversation with Namjoon. Seems like he’d have a better grasp of the situation.

Namjoon will be across me, in Jae’s usual spot, but he’ll crouch forward. As always, he’ll be dressed in black from head to toe, like a ghost or a shadow. Most nights, Namjoon broods while I study. On the nights he’s on the verge of a philosophical bullshit episode, the best thing to do is just listen to him. I imagine our would-be conversation will go like this:

“It’s only as bad as you let it be,” he will probably say. “Life is the choices you make. It’s hard now, but eventually you’ll have to drag yourself out of your dark hiding place.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Making this about me won't make your problems go away.”

I like to argue that I have no problems, but my issues have issues. Besides, I thought the idea is to stay away from what gives you pain and go towards what makes you happy. So I will say, “I’m fine now. I just have to stay away from the place.”

“The place? Or the whole gig?”

“Look, I’m just not ready.”

Namjoon will then give me a look that’s neither stern nor patronizing. “There is no ready. Only willing.”

From my periphery, I see a familiar set of broad shoulders emerge from the corner. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but when I see Sungjin’s always friendly face in the hallway, I instantly feel the heaviness I’ve been carrying all day lift off. As if I were a soaked kitten getting dry and warm and toasty under the sun. I pull down my headphones.

“I was just about to text you,” he says as soon as he’s a mere three steps away, and decent hearing range, from me. His smile is bright as always, but today his hair is kept in place by a baseball cap. “But I realized I don’t have your number.”

“What for?” I ask, crushing the ridiculous ideas, each increasingly more ridiculous than the last, sprouting from the question. Most of it variations of _I  just wanted to see you_. Ridiculous.

“We still have to work on your song. It’s due on Tuesday.”

“Right.” I don’t add that I haven’t finished writing it yet and that I’m about to completely revise the verse we wrote last time. “Homework,” I say stupidly.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” Somewhere there is a hint of a smirk. He’s wearing lighter clothes today, a black sweater that looks so soft and warm. I feel like burying my nose against his chest but that would be weird. I mustn’t be weird.

“No. Of course not.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He tilts his head as if to further examine me. I feel my myriad insufficiencies roar back to life under Sungjin’s gaze. “You look tired. More than usual. Did something happen?”

My head is already being more of a mess than usual today, I don’t even know how to take that. Sungjin sits next to me on the bench, and I inch back into my corner. As if he noticed, Sungjin leans back and gives me more space even though he’s practically more than a foot away from me.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, okay?” I snap.

Sungjin winces at the tone of my voice. “Okay. Noted.” He sits straighter and turns slightly away from me. I hate this.

“Sungjin! Hi!”

I look up and Nayeon and her friend Jungyeon are crowding the corridor with their giddy energy. They have another girl with them—shorter, long brown hair, bangs—someone I don’t recognize. Sungjin’s face brightens when he sees them, and he offers them that sunlit smile ubiquitous on his face. The cloud that I thought had been lifted descends upon me again.

“You remember Jisoo?”

Sungjin nods. “Of course, I remember. I’m glad you girls were there, by the way.”

“Of course! We had so much fun! Anyway, I was looking for you at your office,” Nayeon says. “You weren’t there. Are you gonna be in class today?”

“Yeah,” Sungjin answers. “Professor Parks says I should sit in when I can.”

“Did he tell you to sit in the back too?” Nayeon asks. 

Sungjin shakes his head. “But I’m an observer in the class so it’s where I should be, right?”

Jungyeon nudges Nayeon’s side with her elbow, and Nayeon bends sideways just enough to avoid it. “Right! Anyway,” Nayeon continues, “We’ll see you later, right? You said you’re going to help us out.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

“Awesome.”

I put my headphones back on and crank the volume all the way up.

 

***

 

Professor Park asks to see me again after class. Based on experience, this is never a good thing. Sungjin lingers by the front desk as usual, clearing up sheet music and unplugging amps and instruments. I’m starting to think he’s meant to be here. Or maybe, that even if he’s not meant to, he chooses to be here.

Until Professor Park turns to him and nods. He must have sent some form of telepathic message or maybe the Professor can control people with a flick of his brows because Sungjin nods back, gathers the papers and his guitar and leaves the room. I think I prefer Sungjin here now, if only to lessen the blow. Privacy like this never bodes well. It means it’s something so serious no one else should hear it.

“I’ve been listening to your songs,” says Professor Park. “And I’ve noticed something.” He motions for me to sit down and, despite my resolve to look like I’ve got this under control, I take the front row aisle chair. Professor takes a breath before he speaks. “I hoped I was wrong. I don’t know what to make of your work.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“That’s not really the issue here,” says Professor Park. He leans back against the desk and folds his arms over his chest. “You are very talented. You have the best ear I’ve encountered in all my classes. I was looking forward to hearing your songs.”

What else could it be? Somewhere deep inside, a spark ignites. Can this be a good thing? Maybe I’ve finally redeemed myself? Maybe this time, Professor Park is about to offer me an internship at his indie studio. It’s happened before. Only once before had Professor Park handpicked a student to work for him before graduating.

“You’ve been cheating.”

My head whips up. “I…” Now I know why he made me sit down. “I…I haven’t…”

“You’ve been plagiarising yourself,” he explains. Not that this makes his accusation any less severe. Or sensible.

“But…I wrote all those songs…They’re _my_ songs. I wrote them myself.”

“They are. You’ve been submitting the exact same song progression not just in my class but in your other classes too. You’re recycling your work. It's self-plagiarising.”

“They’re different songs…”

“You’re using the same basic template for everything,” he says, shaking his head. “The elements don’t vary significantly. Even the chord progressions are the same.”

“I…write different lyrics…” Professor Park just said I’m one of the best…why is he saying this now?

“You write a verse and a chorus and alter the melody. You can do so much better than that.” Even the way he says it sounds like he’s desperate to make me understand. “I know you have it in you. Your talent is innate, but I need you to work harder.”

“But…” The words aren’t making sense. “It’s a different song every time…”

“Yes, but the elements as a whole make a song. You’re just dressing up the same old song in different clothes and making it pass off as something new. You’ve been using the same sequences in different classes, too.”

“It’s not…illegal. I’m not stealing anyone’s work.”

“It’s still a form of plagiarism. Murky, and maybe it doesn’t conform to the standard definition but you’re becoming a one-trick pony relying on a crutch.”

“But I didn’t do anything _wrong_.” I hear my voice breaking.

“I asked for never-before-heard original songs.” He was shaking his head. Disappointed. “You didn’t do that. I’m afraid this is what you’re planning for all your demos.”

I feel like a child. Incompetent and helpless. 

“It’s not about whether or not you’ve committed an act of academic dishonesty or whether or not this is illegal.” His voice was quiet and deliberately calm. “Do you understand what I’m trying to communicate with you?”

I keep my eyes hard on the floor.

“You’ve made it this far. I know what you are capable of composing, but you’re not giving me your voice. You’re giving me mash-ups and rearrangements of old projects. I let it slip the first time because maybe you needed to ease your way in. But you can’t keep doing the bare minimum amount of effort and expect results. You’re not rewarded just by simply showing up.”

I can’t believe he’s giving me this lecture as if I’m a freshman. I am more than ashamed. The feeling— _demoralized_ , that’s the word—is stuffing thorns down my throat and lead down my gut. I couldn’t breathe.

“You still have the final project and the next couple of assignments. I expect more from you. Do you understand?”

I nod and push myself to my feet. I have nothing more to say or argue, even if I wanted to. What was there left to say? Professor Park just contradicted himself in that entire conversation. I’m not any good like he likes to believe I am. What if I never was?

I force a thank you and make my way out the classroom.

Sungjin is waiting on the bench, free of his teaching materials, and he stands up when he sees me. “Hey.”

Professor Park can come out any minute, so I walk past him and down the corridor. I hear him follow me, but I can’t be bothered to tell him off like this. Something tells me he won’t leave even if I ask him to. I must look like a mess. Exactly the way everything is going on wrong this minute. I step out into the courtyard and up the cobblestone path to the back of the musician’s lounge. But Sungjin walks past me, stands in front of the door. 

“What?” I ask, looking at his hand, at the door, anywhere but his face.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to move. _Please_.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone like this. I can’t do that. Tell me, what do you need?”

“I’m fine,” I plead. “I just need to sit where it’s quiet.” The lounge isn’t quiet. It’s filled with music students crashing on the couch, the floors, anywhere to sleep or practice or do last minute homework. But the white noise might be good for me. You’re always the most alone in the middle of a crowd.

“You’re not okay,” he says. There’s no room to argue.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“You’re allowed to say it,” he says, taking a step towards me. I wonder if he’s heard anything Professor Park said to me. Or if he already knew all along.

My eyes are burning, and if I’m not careful I’ll end up crying in front of him. That’s unacceptable. “Is that what will make you leave me alone?”

Sungjin’s face pulls into a stubborn press of his lips. “Is that what you really want?”

I just want to be somewhere I can lie down and not be bothered for the rest of the afternoon and maybe the rest of the night. “What do you care?”

“Of course, I care.”

Good doesn’t exist without condition. Sungjin must be here under Professor Park’s instruction. What other reason could there possibly be? It’s so easy to tell someone you care about them. When all is good and the shitstorm that is your life hasn’t taken over, you care. But when it all starts to fall down, that’s when human nature kicks in. No one wants to listen to sob stories.

No one really cares.

The door stutters open, and Sungjin and I step aside to let two students and their cello cases out. But other than that, Sungjin didn’t budge. The lounge is officially out of the question now.

“Do you need another emergency rave?” Sungjin.

“No. I don’t think that will help.”

“Have you eaten?”

I shake my head. I haven’t eaten all day. “Not hungry.”

“Do you want to go home?”

No. I shake my head harder. Even if my roommates won’t be around…I don’t think I can stay in that space. I’d end up feeling restless and unable to sleep.

“Is there anywhere you want me to take you?”

I have nowhere, basically. I refuse to show up at the station like this. Jackson and Jimin are on tonight, and I can’t deal with that energy. It’s too much for me on a regular day, and on nights like these I’d be overwhelmed in all the wrongs ways.

“Is there someone you want me to call for you?”

I have no one. I shake my head again.

“Is there anything you want to do?”

“No. I just…don’t _you_ have somewhere you need to be?” Work? With Nayeon? Something?

“I do. But that can wait.”

I wrap my arms around myself. I’m shaking, and Sungjin can see it.

“What do you need?” he asks again, softly. Gently. Like it’s safe for me to tell him the truth.

“Somewhere I can cry. Alone. And not be bothered.”

“I know just the place.” Then he inclines his head towards the pathway into the arboretum. I follow him down the stone path, and into the lush trees filling the grounds behind the music building.

The air smells different here. Fresher. It’s cooler, too. Even with the humidity, I could breathe better. Splashes of the late afternoon sunlight spill through the gaps of the leaves and mottle the red earth with neon orange flashes of light. I’ve heard about this place, it lead to the greenhouse where the Sunflower Club is stationed, but I’ve never wandered through here. Under the canopy, we may as well have been outside campus. Everything looks different, aged but at the same time renewed, foreign but strangely familiar. We stop at the stone benches by the koi pond.

“I didn’t know this was here.”

Sungjin shrugs. “I know someone from the Sunflower Club. They say this space will offer you everything you need when you need it. You look like you really need it.”

I could have laughed because he just confirmed my suspicions that I am indeed a hot mess. “Do you come here a lot?”

“When I need to.”

“So this is your secret space? What do you even come here for?” He’s always smiling it’s hard to imagine him coming here for reasons I would.

“Reasons,” he answers. “Do I look like Superman to you? Even Superman needs to take breather.”

Now I’m torn. Part of me needs Sungjin to leave, but the other part is holding me back from saying it out loud. I don't want to be alone. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

I could feel the tears rushing up to my eyes. My face is so hot. My voice wobbles. “Make me feel better.” I shake away the tears stinging my eyes. “I know you’re here because of Professor Park.”

“Professor Park?” Something in way he speaks makes me look up at him. “You think I’m here because you think Professor Park told me to?”

“Aren’t you?”

Sungjin’s smile…the only thing I can think of looking at it, is a soft sunrise over the ocean. “I’m not here because Professor Park told me to.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

I suck in a breath, and tilt my head up. I mustn’t cry.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. And I won’t ask if you don’t want me to. But you have to tell someone. You have to talk. No one can read your mind.”

My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard and I’m on the edge of tears. “You’re really not going to ask?”

“Not if you don’t want me to. But I’m not leaving you alone. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

I press the back of my hand against my eyes. I’m so on edge. I feel like a string ready to snap. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay. Here is okay. Here with you is okay.”

“You can cry if you need to. No one can see or hear you here.”

I fall into the bench with Sungjin next to me. And cry. Softly at first, teardrops falling slowly down my cheek like a drizzle. Then all at once like a hurricane. Sungjin’s arms wrap around me, and I’m engulfed in his warm embrace. He holds me against him as I wail into his (really soft) sweater. No matter how much I shake, I don’t shatter. Not with the way Sungjin is holding me and keeping me from breaking.

“Don’t you have to be somewhere?” I ask again when the sun has set and it’s just the two of us in the twilight blues and the white pins of light. Sungjin is still holding on to me, one arm across my back and the other locking me in place. My face is still buried in his chest.

“Yeah, but later.”

“I’m sorry I cried all over your sweater.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“It’s just that your sweater’s really soft. And you’re really warm.”

“Thank you.”

A laugh bubbles from inside my chest and escapes my throat. I don't let go.


	11. Chapter 11

I’ve reached my lifetime quota for making friends the day I joined After School Sweg.

In fact, I’ve been actively avoiding meeting new people since. You'll think _not_ making friends is easier than making connections, but campus life—even in such a big one—thrived on the familiar and the routine. You see the same faces in your building, meet with the same people for a semester, sometimes more, in shared classes, and when you practice at the music lounge and study at the music library it would be silly _not_ to acknowledge the same people you’re there with for just about the same time every Monday and Thursday. I don’t even look at them, but I still keep getting these generic greetings.

I’ve even gone as far and being downright rude if weird, tense, and misanthropic doesn’t work. Unfortunately, normal human behavior works towards making new connections and some people just _really_ want to be your friend you don’t have a choice in the matter. You end up accepting your losses and going with it.

Unfortunately, for some people “Go away. Stop Talking to me” doesn’t always work.

That’s how I end up hanging out with Wonpil and, by association, Dowoon outside class, and how I go everywhere with Ayeon and Huiryong (they may very well be my best friends), and that sometimes I go out for dinner with Jae and Jimin (without being asked). Joonyoung was like that, too. I think he thought I was being ironic when I’d scowl at him. Wonpil and I went to see him busking every weekend and soon facial recognition kicked in, and then we were nodding at each other, and then eventually Joonyoung started conversation.

But other than these carefully selected few, none of the other transients in my life invited me into their personal spaces. Nayeon isn’t asking me out to some party. Jaebum and Jinyoung aren’t inviting me to go watch some game with them or play basketball. Namjoon’s philosophical lectures never extend to getting coffee at Khunfections or wherever he likes it best.

And then there’s Sungjin.

I feel like he’s the kind of guy who always has his social calendar full for the simple reason that people love having him around. He’s the one getting invited to parties and socials and road trips. The kind of guy you call to help you set up and the kind who volunteers to stay behind to clean up afterwards. The kind of guy you call _just because_. Sungjin will show up, too. No questions asked. He’ll be there before you know it.

Even when you don’t ask out loud.

In a way, he’s like Joonyoung. Joonyoung was everywhere all the time. Always the social one, always the guy who knew everyone in the room and at least two more in the other. Always the one to find me first, drag me out into the night and make the most of our dwindling freedom before Adulthood claims us entirely. It was always out at night. When the world was asleep and Joonyoung and I were adventurers going into the unknown.

Always, it was Joonyoung and Wonpil who were the ones invited to places, much like Jae and Ayeon. I was the fine print. Where one of them will be, so too shall I be. I go not for the party but because, in spite of myself, I like to think I try. When I wasn’t out getting work invites of my own, then at least I’m outside with people I can rely on.

I’m still not sure where how to categorise Sungjin.

When I really think about it, I don’t know much about him at all. Other than that he’s my TA, Sungjin could still be considered a stranger. I know he’s a grad student, but I’m not sure what he’s studying. Could be music because he’s under the supervision of Professor Park, but I’m not really even sure how that works. Likewise, he doesn’t really know that much about me. And yet, he stayed with me. Comforted me without asking for anything in return. Just as he promised, Sungjin didn’t ask about what happened. He didn’t even say anything, just held me until I stopped crying. We sat together for I’m not even sure how long, content in each other’s presence the silence wasn’t weird at all. I was, still am, such a disaster but at least, that night, he didn’t try to fix it. Fix me.

Finally, I manage to pull myself together.

Most days, I am capable of holding up on my own.

 

***

 

I look up as Wonpil stops singing and I reach forward to hit the mic on my side of the booth. We’re recording Wonpil’s vocals and Dowoon’s drums for a class project. I’ll record half the synths (the other half is Wonpil’s) later, then work on rearrangement and final production and mastering.

“How’s that?” Wonpil asks.

“That was a good take.” 

“You really think so?”

“Yes,” I answer, “but you can do it again if you want to.”

Wonpil grins. “What do you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think, it’s your vocals.”

“You weren’t listening were you?”

“I was.” Not really. Not exactly.

Wonpil makes a face. “Play it again?”

I do that. Wonpil’s voice fills my headphones and I close my eyes to focus on the words and the music. He rewrote a verse at the last minute, and the change makes the song more powerful than it was before.

Ever since I came back here, I’ve been Wonpil’s fine print too. It was easy. Convenient. We work well together. We have three years’ worth of records, demos, and unfinished work of Wonpil’s songs and my arrangements stored in too many external hard drives, songs about summer, about winter, about finding love and experiencing heartbreak. None of these were our personal experiences, not really, but when you’re like me you make a habit of observing people. You learn more than you think just by watching.

And then Joonyoung happened, and all Wonpil can think about is how good it would be if I finally write about something real. I haven’t, still. As much as he asserts that writing my feelings will be good for me, I can’t bring myself to do that. I remember crying a lot after that, hiding out in my room and coming out only to do radio. I started skipping class when I thought I could get away with it. Wonpil said he understood, and yet he’s still part of the team that forces me to act out when all I want is to stay in.

It’s weird now that I think about it, how well we work together even when our personalities are so different from each other’s.

“I think we’re good,” Wonpil finally says. “Unless you have other comments? Suggestions?”

I look back at Dowoon, who is wiping off the notes he wrote on the skin of his snare drum. Sometimes I forget he’s even around. Dowoon hasn’t really said anything other than infinitely helpful suggestions about the drum beats and the pacing of the song. He’s so quiet it’s unnerving. It makes me wonder if this is how it feels like for other people when I’m lurking in the background.

“Dowoon, do you have anything to add?”

He looks up and shakes his head.

“I think we’re good,” I say to Wonpil. “Good job, guys.”

“We’re going bowling tonight,” Wonpil says as soon as he joins us in the control room.

Dowoon perks up, like he’s excited about this.

“Okay,” I say, wary of Dowoon’s eyes on me. “Enjoy your Saturday night.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Dowoon asks. I don’t hear him talk too often, so when he does his deep voice always catches me off guard.

“What would I do there?” I say.

“I don’t know,” Wonpil answers, “go bowling, maybe?”

“I don’t bowl.”

“Just because we’re going bowling doesn’t mean you have to,” Wonpil says. “There are other things you can do.”

“Like eat,” Dowoon adds. “Drink? Talk to people?” This is all so disconcerting to hear from Yoon Dowoon, the only other person I could say is like me.

“Have fun?” Wonpil.

The above choices don’t really fall under my definition of fun. “I won’t know anyone there.”

“We’re just going with Nayeon and Jungyeon and Jisoo. They’re bringing some more friends—the exchange students from Japan, I think. And Jinyoung and Jaebum will be there. You know those people. Jackson will be there. You’re friends with Jackson.”

Dowoon nods. “Fun!”

“You won’t know people until you actually go and meet them first. My roommate, the one I was telling you about, says he’ll drop by after he’s done working too.”

All the more reason for me _not_ to go. “I need to work on this song.”

“It’s _my_ song,” Wonpil says, “I decide if it’s ready or not. And I decide that it can wait. I’ve already done all the work anyway. Writing and then recording, what’s left to do? Come on, lets go bowling!”

Of course, it stings.

It’s not as if I don’t realize that some of my best work this semester is not mine. Wonpil’s songs are the best pieces I’ve produced, but that’s easily because Wonpil is a natural musician. He writes a full song within a session, revises it in the next, and finalises everything during recording the demo. It’s me who takes at least eight drafts to get to a final track.

“Are we changing your mind?” Wonpil asks, making a cute face. That never works on me, why does he even bother?

“I really have to work…but maybe I’ll drop by later?”

Wonpil pouts. “You said that the last time. You really need to get out more.”

He means well, I know that. All my friends do. But it still doesn’t make it any less suffocating. “I really don’t. Have fun bowling.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in class.” he sighs. “Let’s go, Dowoon.”

I watch them leave the studio, but don’t get back to work as soon as they’re gone. It's suddenly _too_ quiet. I can’t work like this. I need to take a walk. On my way to my usual convenience store, I’m startled by my phone buzzing in my pocket. I don't recognize the number, so I stare at it for a long moment.

“Hello?”

“So apparently, I have access to class records all along. This isn’t weird, is it? Because if this is weird, I can hang up and we can pretend this never happened.” Sungjin.

“Hi?”

“Hi.” I can hear him smiling. “Is this okay?”

“This is okay.”

“Good. I just wanted to check up on you.”

I try not to smile. “I’m fine.”

“Ah. The universal generic _I’m fine_. Good to know.”

“I don’t know what to say? I’m…normal? Nothing out of the ordinary…Thanks for last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. Have you talked to someone about it yet?”

From the other line, I hear a multitude of voices—guys laughing and girls shrieking—and banging music. Like he’s in a party. There’s always a party somewhere in campus. Every weekend someone somewhere is having a party or going out or hanging out. Maybe he’s in a karaoke room? Does he like that sort of thing? And if he does, who is he with?

“I haven’t really processed it on my own yet.”

“Ah. Well—“ More yelling, I hear something crashing, and then loud cheering. “You’re feeling better at least? What are you doing?”

“Walking.”

“Walking?”

“You know…walking? Going somewhere on foot?”

“Outside? Alone?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s still early.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

I don’t want to sound like more of a loser so I say “Party.”

He gasps. “Really? Where? Is this another one of your emergency raves?”

“No,” I say. “An actual party with other actual people. At a friend’s. And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

“You just gasped.”

“I’m just surprised,” he says, laughing. “You have friends?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Are you really walking somewhere or are you hiding out somewhere? Or walking aimlessly as a means of hiding?” It’s quieter on his end now, like he left the room and went somewhere else. Inside the bathroom? Out the street, maybe?

“I am…slightly offended by that.”

He laughs and it fills the spaces between us. “I can come get you wherever you are? If you want me to.”

“Aren’t you at a party or something? What are you even doing?”

“Something like a party, yeah.” I hear someone calling out for him, a familiar female voice I can’t identify. “I can get out, we’re almost done here anyway.”

It’s barely nine in the evening, no party ends this early. Even I knew that. “You don’t have to do that. I think this is way past your TA duties.”

A pause. “You’re right.” His voice is suddenly quiet. Did I say something wrong? “Have fun at your party. I mean it. Don’t overexert yourself.” Someone calls out for him again, a male voice this time. I don’t make out what they’re talking about, I think Sungjin pressed his hand over the receiver or something. “Anyway,” he says a moment later, “I have to go. Save my number, okay? Call me if you want me to bail you out. Or if you don’t get a ride home. Or…whatever.”

“Okay…bye.” I end the call with a bitter taste in my mouth. Why can’t I do anything right?

Feeling pathetic, I decide to walk around campus for another ten minutes until I start feeling _even more_ sorry for myself. Going back home is out of the question—I still haven’t really talked to Ayeon and Huiryong is being all high-strung because of work— and it’s too early to head to the station.

With no options left, I send Wonpil a quick text to ask where they are. Two minutes later I receive a reply with too many exclamation points, too many emojis, and a group photo of Wonpil with Dowoon, Jaebum, Jinyoung, and Yugyeom making faces at the camera. Behind them are the other girls, taking their turn on the lanes. Their excitement is contagious, I’m looking forward to actually seeing them.

Ten minutes later, I’m walking up the street to the bowling alley. The area is one of the more populated places just off campus. Students from all the nearby universities hang out here all the time. It had everything. Karaoke rooms, bowling alleys, rock-climbing gyms, sports bars, gaming rooms, and varied fusion cuisine. Naturally, this is foreign territory for me.

As I approach the glass doors, the smell of pizza and other snacks combine to remind me that I am human and require sustenance. My stomach growls and, for another first time in forever, it feels so good to be normal. Look at me, out on a Saturday night, looking forward to eating out with friends. I’m starting to really like this idea already. By the time I open the door, I’m already more than ready to dive into good food. I make a quick scan of the strip to look for the bowling alleys. It’s so busy, you could lose someone in the crowd.

And yet my vision snags instantly on something. _Someone_.

_Joonyoung_.

Jung Joonyoung is here.

In that instant, my heart stops and it doesn’t really sink in that this night could not get any worse. At first, I’m rooted to the spot. I haven’t seen him in a year. I’m stuck studying his profile: the lazy way he still hunched, the way his shaggy black hair fell over his eyes, and the toothy grin he gives his bandmates—people I had once hung out with too. It hurt in the way a heart aches for something you can no longer have but still long for.

The ache slowly works through my chest and up my throat. I feel like a sheet of ice shattering in all directions all at once. There is no way I am coming out of this whole.

I stumble backwards, exit through the glass doors, and run across the street. Walking away, I look through what other options I have. I could wait for Joonyoung to leave. He might have not even seen me. I could wait ten minutes and go back.

My heart is pounding so fast and so hard it hurts.

I pull out my phone. It’s ringing, and I haven’t noticed until now.

“Wonpil?”

“Hey, where are you? Did you get lost?”

_No, I just saw Joonyoung and I don’t think I’m ready to run into him._

_This place is too crowded and I don’t think I’ll survive after all._

_Are you going somewhere else later? Maybe I can see you guys there instead?_

_I don’t know how to bowl. And I’d feel weird just sitting there watching you because I sure as hell won’t even try when there’s the slightest chance I’d suck at it and I don’t need any of you to see that._

The truth is not good enough. 

As good as I’ve gotten at it, I don’t want to lie if only because I can’t keep track of all the things I’ve said to people. “Actually I’m not feeling well.” The lamest excuse to ever exist. 

I tilt my head up so the tears don’t fall, and spy movement through the lights. Wonpil is on the second floor walkway, pacing.

“Oh…I guess you do sound a little croaky. Everyone was so excited to hear you were coming. You could’ve been a celebrity.”

A hiccup. “I’m really sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” But I hear the annoyance in his voice. I don’t blame him. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m coming down with something?”

“That’s ‘cause you probably don’t sleep.”

“I’m really sorry, can you tell everyone that?”

“Of course.”

Joonyoung is still wandering the main atrium, laughing at something and slapping the back of his bassist’s shoulder. He’s probably laughing about something silly. He always laughs at the weirdest things.

“Thanks, Wonpil. Next time, I promise.”

“You better.”

Wonpil ends the call and I watch him push his phone back into his pocket and disappear back into the building. I can imagine all the fun they’re having, and it makes me feel like such a terrible person. I probably won’t add to the fun, but that’s another point subtracted from my Overall Humanness Score.

But I still can’t breathe. Joonyoung is loitering by the entrance, and any minute now he’ll drop down on the steps and just stay there until he feels like moving again.

Of course, it only gets even worse from here.

Instead of a clean escape as I would like the universe to offer me, who else shows up by the entrance which also so happens to be my only path of escape? Sungjin. That’s who. And if that’s not bad enough, he’s on the phone, stops for a moment like he’s looking for someone, and then finds her by the steps. She doesn’t look so good, unstable on her feet and swaying into Sungjin’s arms when she finds him.

And to top it all off, they don’t leave immediately. I’m _gifted_ with the view of Joonyoung (and his band) and Sungjin (and this girl) sitting on opposite sides of the steps. Both of them, if they turned just the right angle, would see me standing under the awning of the bubble tea shop. So I duck in, and of course, _of course_ , the place is full.

I get a taro bubble tea and park myself on the long table set at the very edge of the store, the section for solo customers. The only seat was in between this guy and the corner.

“Bad night?” he asks.

Nope. Not doing this. I keep my head down and just shrug as nonchalantly as I can.

“Yeah. My friends are all in this band and I’m an accountant.”

“Sucks to be you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Mr. Accountant and I don’t really talk. And I don’t do anything silly like cry, though I am on the verge of a panic attack. But I don’t let it win, and I’m relieved to have this much control over myself. I already feel so silly. Because just a little push and I would have lost all control and allowed myself to…to what?

Let Sungjin in?

In the first place, I don’t even know for sure how to even associate Sungjin and I in the same sentence. For one, he’s just being nice. To me. To everyone, it seems. If there’s any verisimilitude to my impression of him, then he’s the kind of guy people call for help. And what I saw is just another example of Sungjin coming to the rescue. I’m not special.

So when Sungjin sends a text asking if I got to the party okay, I don’t respond. From now on, our relationship would be professional. He’s my TA after all, and there are rules about this.

Besides, what would Sungjin like about me?

He’s the complete opposite of Joonyoung. For one thing, Sungjin smiles all the time. He likes to be outside and be around other people. He probably likes babies and furry animals too. There’s a whole life and history to him that I can’t breach at this point. We probably don’t even have that much in common. What will we even do together? He’ll probably want to bike along the river and I’d rather stay inside the studio and mix songs.

Although, Huiryong has once commented that there is no way I’ll find a guy just like me because both of us would never our leave our respective rooms, but that’s besides the point.

Sungjin is probably better off with girls like Huiryong. Pretty. Assertive. The kind of girl who knows what she wants and gets it all while looking like she’s about to walk down the red carpet.

What would Sungjin want with me? I’m scared of everything. By now he must know I’m crazy, but even then all he sees is the very tip of the iceberg of my crazy. Beneath the ice cold veneer that I work on everyday, I’m just a natural disaster waiting to happen. And not even the good kind.

Mr. Accountant starts collecting his trash and, just before he slides down his seat, turns to me, nods, wishes me luck, and leaves. I do the same after he’s left the shop.

 

***

 

On Sunday, Eric takes the Sweg Crew out for barbecue dinner. I can’t tell if it’s for a job well done or to give us a hefty scolding. But free food is good food. Always.

I sit in the corner of the booth, next to Jamie who’s sitting next to Jae, and across Namjoon who’s sitting next to Jackson. Eric is on the other end, giving our orders to the nice middle-aged lady who came to take them.

“Does anyone know why we’re here?” Jackson whispers. It’s a stage whisper because subtlety is not one of Jackson’s strengths. I don’t even think it’s present in his DNA.

“Does there have to be a reason?” Namjoon answers. “We haven’t gone out like this in a while.”

“I don’t know,” Jackson says nervously.

“Why?” Jamie narrows her eyes at Jackson. “Did _you_ do something to get us in trouble?”

Jackson gasps. “Of course not! I haven’t done anything!”

“That you know of,” Jae retorts. “You might _think_ you didn’t do anything but are just, in fact, unaware of your crimes.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Eric deadpans. “I’m sitting right next to you, Jackson.”

Jae snickers behind his fist.

“And _no_ ,” Eric says, emphasizing the no. “You’re not in trouble. I’m supposed to check on you every once in a  while. Tell me what’s going on in your show.”

I feel like it’s a direct hit on me, what with my recent deviance, but Eric doesn’t even look at me. Not really. He’s looking at no one in particular, smiling to himself and waiting for someone to speak up first. Naturally, that won’t be me.

“Not much,” Namjoon says. “Same old. We’ve been getting more listeners, though.”

A lie. There’s no real way to tell. By this, I guess Namjoon just means we’ve been getting more people online with us. I’ve noticed this, too. When Namjoon isn’t giving out advice or commentary, he’s been playing his mixtape and the response is beyond expectation. Jae’s been doing live covers recently as well. And Jae and Jamie have moved on to Talk Show format when they’re on air together. Jackson always has listeners, and for the last few weeks his live video feed is him taking on increasingly ridiculous dares.

“That’s good,” Eric says. “Have you guys thought about doing a show all together?”

Jackson perks up. “Oh! Yeah! You know I’ve been trying to get them to do that!”

“Yeah but what will we do? Just the same usual stuff?” Jamie asks. “We can’t just do something like a talk show and not make it interesting. It’s the middle of the night.”

“We could,” Jae answers. “With the right guests?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Namjoon says. “Midterms are coming up. More people are gonna stay up longer. We can keep them awake. Without being that much of a distraction.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, but I don’t check. Sungjin called this morning but I didn’t pick up. Instead, I sent him a text saying I already finished the song for Tuesday and we didn’t need to meet up today to work on it. A few seconds after I sent that text, my phone started ringing again. I ignored it.

But I can't avoid him forever. At least not for the rest of the semester. I still have to see him in class. I keep thinking now, if I hadn’t gone to the bowling alley…if I didn’t see Sungjin being Sungjin…him calling me like this would have me thinking all sorts of ridiculous ideas.

“You should really get that,” Jamie says to me, nodding at the incessant buzzing inside my pocket.

“It’s fine,” I answer.

“Just saying.” She shrugs. “Sounds like they _really_ want to talk to you.”

“We can talk later.”

Our food arrives somewhere between Jackson’s suggestions and Namjoon’s refutes. They dig in, shameless. I push my spoon around my stew, picking out tofu and cucumber bits. Other than my roommates, I’m not too comfortable eating out with other people. Though I like to think I’m getting better at it.

“So how do you guys feel about summer rock fests?” Eric asks.

Jae takes the first shot at this one. “In what context?”

Eric puts down his chopsticks and smiles enigmatically at us. “As in how do you guys feel about covering the event for the station?”

“Isn’t that a job for primetime?” Jamie asks. It’s a job for anyone else but us.

“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking about expanding your reach since people seem to like you. For _some_ reason.”

“Hey! We’re awesome people,” Jackson shoots back. “But yeah! Rock on.”

“You don’t even listen to rock,” Namjoon chides.

“Yeah, I do!” Jackson exclaims. “Just maybe not as much, but I do!”

“Let’s do it,” Jae says over the bickering.

Jamie is just rolling her eyes. To me, she says, “I really don’t think us going on a bunch of rock festivals will be doing the world a favor.”

I shrug. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing for us either.”

“I mean, I guess it _would_ be exciting. Have you signed up for them yet?”

I used to—sign up for performing slots at music festivals. I may not like being in crowds, but I loved being invisible on stage. I liked that I could make people move. For a few songs, I could be connected to someone else. We all were.

“I don’t think I will this year.”

“Why?” Jamie asks. “You were awesome last year. If you sign up now, you’ll probably get a good time slot this year.”

Fortunately, Jamie is distracted by Jackson yelling out after he accidentally ate something spicy. Jae, however, does not get distracted easily. Of all days for Jae’s attention span to actually be in his favor and focus on something for longer than 5 minutes, it just has to be today. He doesn’t say anything, but he does look at me as if he’s thinking the exact same thing.

I _should_ be out there. But I’m not.

Eric continues the rest of his pitch over dinner, but I only half-listen to what he has to say.

 

***

 

I don’t talk to Sungjin after class Tuesday afternoon. He sat at the back as usual, and while he was busy talking to the other students, I made a swift exit and hid out at the station. I have the EP Professor Park wants me to start on, however which way he wants me to write it I’m not sure yet. I started on it, of course. But every time I built a template, I remember what the professor said and I end up deleting the entire track. I’ve started this project so many times, I would have a full album and more had I finished half the songs I start on.

So I worked on building playlists and more remixes for radio. It feels like I could breathe again. I feel the music in my veins again. I catch myself dancing to myself, alone, in spaces that are safe. I don’t need to make my own music. I just need to let people know about what already exists, deliver them in ways they never knew could make them dance.

I walk home alone again. Enjoy the silence. Take in the night air. Not have to listen to rambling that goes on forever.

I don’t see Sungjin again until a week later at the faculty office.

“Hey you,” he says, grinning, putting the stack of papers down on his desk. He’s always grading things, I know that now. Professor Park has at least four classes this semester, and Sungjin’s the one collecting papers, going over them, and making sure students are being compliant.

I nod in acknowledgment. I just came to submit something to Professor Lee. For Synth lab. He couldn’t meet up in class so he said to just slip in our flash drives into his pigeon hole. Professor Lee didn’t trust us to submit over the internet. He wanted the “real thing” in his hands. Whatever that means.

“You know, I never heard the final version of our song.”

“You didn’t?” I hurry on to the pigeon holes and drop my flash drive into the appropriate slot. All the while, I keep my face neutral. Which is hard when I’m torn between wanting to strangle his neck with my bare hands and wanting to strangle him in a tight hug.

“You didn’t. Lucky for you I just finished grading this huge stack of papers.”

“Can’t you just listen to it when Professor Park starts grading it?” I really can’t stay. I have to meet Dowoon because Wonpil volunteered to help him out with a video project. I still don’t know for sure how I’m involved, but I couldn’t say no after Dowoon helped us out with ours.

“You realize how weird that is? That I don’t even get to hear the song I’m supposed to have worked 50% on?” he says.

“I really need to go,” I say, more to the desk than to him.

“Where are you going?”

“Meeting somebody.”

“Who are you meeting?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Him?” His brows draw together in an almost comical way. I wonder if he really has no control over the expressions on his face.

“I really should go. I’m late.”

I can’t get out there fast enough. I arrive at the music lounge twenty minutes before our meeting time and wait. The lounge is busier than normal. It’s a week before midterm season, and everyone seems to be finding clever ways to procrastinate. I move towards the far corner and find an empty spot to sit and listen to all the white noise. Two girls near me are talking, from what I pick up, it’s about last year’s summer rock fest.

“You listen to After School Sweg, right?” says the girl in a messy hair bun. She’s wearing a light green sweater over shorts. Next to her, are her theory books and sheet music. Piano major, I think. “Are they any good? My roommate listens to this Chicken Lethal guy.”

“Yes!” squeals her friend with orange hair. “You should totally stay up and listen too." She doesn’t have any books I’m familiar with, most of them business and accounting. She moves and that’s when I see what it says on her sweatshirt: College of Economics. “You’ll love it. Kitty Kat’s on air, like, all the time now. I love it.”

“Wait, Kitty Kat? As in Kitty Kat from the summer rock music festival last year?” gasps Messy Bun.

“The same one. She’s awesome, right?” Orange. She giggles quietly behind her hand.

“What? Oh-em-gee, that’s awesome! Does she play some of stuff on air?”

“She does! I had a party at my dorm room the other weekend because of her. I love her mixes, they’re just so _dance-y_. I really hope she plays at this year’s rock fest. That would be _so_ awesome.”

“I _know_. What days are her program?”

“Monday and Thursday! Sometimes she’s on air other days, too. But Thursday nights are her absolute best. I love her. She doesn’t talk a lot, but _god_ , her playlists are always so on point!”

“Right? I feel like sometimes people tend to drag it out too much? Or just…I don’t know. Put on whatever’s popular on forever loop.”

“She really mixes it up a lot. The other week she put on some of her new mixes and I thought I’d have a heart attack. It was like beach rave. In the library!”

“Yes! We should totally have a listening party!”

Orange nods. “I really hope she’ll be in this year’s music festival!”

“You think she’ll show her face?”

“I think she _does_ show her face. We just didn’t see it ‘cause that time she was wearing a snapback.”

“I’m so excited. I can’t believe it’s not even summer yet.”

It hasn’t even begun raining yet. Not really. But it is getting warmer now.

“Did you hear about the thing, though?” Messy Bun starts talking in a stage whisper, leaning closer to Orange as if sharing a secret.

“What _thing_?”

“So you know how you could still find Kitty Kat playing in clubs last year? And you can’t anymore?”

“Yeah?”

“I heard something happened? Like…something awful. And then she just disappeared.”

Orange gasps. “Seriously? But she’s on radio.”

“Yeah, I just recently heard about it. Maybe she never left radio? But she’s been something like a mystery. I really don’t know what happened but…I heard she tried to…” Messy Bun bit her lip. “I don’t know if it’s true. But…I don’t know.”

“What was it about?”

Messy Bun shakes her head. “I don’t _know_. But…” She gestures at her arms, drawing lines over her wrist.

“Seriously? What a freak?”

“All geniuses are?”

I don’t wait to hear what happens next. As soon as I see Wonpil and Dowoon, I get up and lead them out of the lounge.

 

***

 

“Good evening, listeners. Jackson is out this week for fencing duties, so I have here with me our Kitty Kat.” Namjoon nods at me to make my introduction. 

“Hey guys, let’s have a conversation tonight.”

Namjoon strikes a pose on his table. Elbows on the surface, and fingers laced together—deep thoughts Namjoon. It’s raining outside, has been since this afternoon. If that doesn’t set the mood for tonight, I’m not sure what will. “Send in your thoughts this rainy night. Could be anything. Academic trouble? Do it. Just don’t ask me to do your homework. Love problems? I’ll try my best. Existential crises? Well, that’s something I have _some_ experience with. Whatever you want to talk about, let’s do it.”

On the other end of the radio, I can imagine girls, and maybe even boys, sighing at Namjoon’s deep velvety voice.

“If you have questions you’re afraid to ask when the sun is up, now’s the time to let them out. Anything goes here. We have the night and the rain to keep our darkest thoughts safe from judgment.”

Namjoon does have a point. It’s always when the moon is up, even better when the rain is pouring, that thoughts spill out of our minds. It’s safer.

“While you all send in your thoughts, let me play something for you. I discovered this new band just this week. I think you might enjoy this. Listen to Drug Restaurant with me. I love this song. I got to speak to their frontman and he talked to me about this particular piece. He said he had a difficult time really getting the emotions out in this one. He said he had to dig really deep inside him to properly convey the story. Everything about the lyrics, the melody, the rhythm, and the arrangement is something he had to work on at ungodly hours of the night because that’s when his thoughts flow freely and unhindered. It’s a great song with a great story. Really sets our mood for tonight.”

The music plays just as the band name registers. Before I know it, I’m gripping on to edge of the table too tightly my knuckles turn white. This is Joonyoung’s band. The intro plays and I’m back to the summer of last year. When Joonyoung and I were composing this song together.

I close my eyes and imagine Joonyoung next to me, the sleeves of his flannel shirt against my arm, knees touching, and his deep throaty voice reading the words out loud. I could listen to him all night. I remember the way he threw his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me tight when I crossed out a line and replaced it with something of my own. I remember he smelled really good. Smokey, a little bit ashy, but good.

I remember rewriting his music. Not always, but sometimes, he tended to go extreme with his quirks and while I appreciated he had a sound of his own, it wasn’t going to make other people want to listen to him. It took a while before he listened to me, and we argued about it, but the look he’d give me after…I lived for it.

Joonyoung loved to write about breakup songs, rewriting the same breakup over and over again. I asked him about it, but he just grinned at me and said I should be so lucky he isn’t writing _me_ a song. We’d spend nights just writing together. Joonyoung and his guitar, and me holding the pen and the notebook.

But what makes me want to throw up right now is the fact that this song Namjoon is playing is not only the last song Joonyoung and I wrote together, but that it’s the exact same way I arranged and produced it.

I try my damnedest not to let it affect me.


	13. Chapter 13

I nearly forget I'm upset at Sungjin when I see him across the hall Monday night after I’m done working on my latest synth lab homework. He’s not smiling now. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed in a tight line.

“Was it just you in there?” he asks.

I look behind me, at Wonpil’s designated studio. He’s been letting me use it these past few days. I don’t ask why. Or who Sungjin is looking for. Even if I want to. “Yes.”

“Great.” Sungjin runs his fingers through his hair. Frustrated-Sungjin runs his fingers through his hair, good to know. Do all versions of Sungjin run his fingers through his hair like this?

Against my better will, I ask “What’s wrong?”

He’s on his phone, furiously tapping on the screen. “It’s nothing. Have you seen Nayeon?”

I saw her after class. She was on her way somewhere with a big group of her friends. This is probably not something I want to be involved in. “No.”

“Great. Just great,” he mutters under his breath.

“Call her.”

“I have been.” Angry? Annoyed? “We were supposed to meet more than an hour ago.”

“Ah.” I want to say ‘good luck’ or ‘more power to you’, something—anything—just to spite him but he looks sort of pathetic. And desperate. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re supposed to work on my homework. We were supposed to work on it last night, but she got distracted and I need to get this done tonight.”

“You have homework?” I ask. “Just do it without her?”

He sighs. Angry, still. “No, she said she’ll help me.”

“Clearly, she’s not in the helping mood right now so maybe you just need to get it done on your own?” I don’t get it. Why need Nayeon’s help? Isn’t Sungjin a grad student? He’s supposed to be the advanced learner. What does he need an undergrad’s help for? Does he really just want to spend that much time with Im Nayeon?

Sungjin doesn’t respond. He’s still staring down the hall, maybe thinking if he looked hard enough, Nayeon would magically conjure into being. I should walk away. Just leave him alone. I obviously have no more reason to stick around here. 

“What were you supposed to work on anyway?” I hate myself sometimes.

He shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not important.” he mutters. “I’ll figure something out.” But he doesn’t sound so sure.

“It sounds important.”

Sungjin gestures helplessly at his studio. “I’m working on this project Professor Park assigned. It’s a synth lab exercise.”

“Okay. What do you need Nayeon for?”

“I told you. She said she’d help me.”

“With a synth lab exercise? It can’t be that complicated?”

Sungjin draws in a sharp breath. “It’s not that simple either.”

“You’re the TA. Shouldn’t the students be the one asking _you_ for help?”

“You don’t understand.”

He’s right. I don’t. It’s just a synth lab exercise. It’s like reading, almost. Or singing. At the very worst, it’s a really complicated maths problem. “Just trudge through it, really. Think of it like writing a song or even a long tedious transcription exercise.”

Sungjin runs his hand through his hair again. “You can say that because it’s easy for you. You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what? It’s homework? You sound like you’re—“

“That I’m what? Cheating on my homework? Getting a student to do my homework for me?”

“Then just do it. You’re saying it like you can’t even work a computer.”

“I can work a computer.” He sounds hurt.

“Okay. Fine.” And I hear myself sounding so mean. “Whatever.”

“I’m not a music student,” he finally says. “So the things you’re good at, I need time to learn. I’m not like you.”

Sungjin looks at me, just enough to acknowledge that we’re in the middle of a weird fight that I shouldn’t even be involved in. I’m just so tired of people. Talking. Being around them. Having to be a certain way and being so conscious about _everything_. Then he turns back to the door of his office and disappears inside.

I let out a breath. And take another one in. It hurts, too. Like I can’t breath and my chest is so tight. As if Sungjin found all the right notes to access my chest and make me feel this way.

It’s just a synth lab exercise. How hard can it be?

I lift my hand and knock on the door.

Sungjin opens the door just enough to see who’s outside. “What now?”

Sungjin isn’t just nobody. He might not have been Ayeon or Huiryong, who, now that I’m less pathetic, have graduated to being my best friends instead of my _only_ friends. In a way, Sungjin is something else from Jae and Wonpil.

“So…I didn’t realize you even had homework. Which is weird because you’re still technically a student, kind of—“

“What is it?”

“Maybe I can help?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I’m sorry if I raised my voice. I can’t remember if I did, but if I did I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t. And I was mean. I’m sorry, too.”

Sungjin looks into my eyes, and I don’t look away.

 “Let me help you,” I say again.

“Are you sure?”

I shrug. “I’m done with my homework and I really don’t have anything else to do tonight. It’s not a big deal.”

“You really don’t have to do that…”

I push my way inside his studio. “Yeah, maybe I do. I’m sorry. Sometimes…I guess I forget that people need help too, you know?” Because I never ask for help, it doesn’t make sense to me that other people might need it. That maybe _I_ need it but the thought of it makes my skin crawl. “And this sounds important to you, and I didn’t realize it until I realized it was a real conversation and maybe it was a fight.”

“Now I’m worried. This is the most I’ve heard you talk about yourself like this.” He’s smiling now, but only just. He’s still really worried about the work.

“Let’s just get to work,” I say, putting down my things on the floor. Of course, Sungjin gets the studio with a couch.

It’s nice and cozy inside, and I think it has more to do with places taking the personality of their owners. Wonpil’s studio wasn’t messy in the Jae sense. There were no papers and books strewn haphazardly around the table, and there were no takeout and pizza boxes needing to be cleaned up. But Sungjin’s studio is levels above Wonpil’s tidiness. Nothing  is out of it’s proper place, and I’m just standing here figuring out where I should designate my spot.

Sungjin pushes a chair in my direction and I take it. Sungjin sits next to in front of the console. I keep my eyes on the screensaver on the monitor.

“I didn’t know you weren’t a music major,” I say.

“I took up Psychology. And now Music Therapy with Professor Park.

“I guess I didn’t think that ‘cause you’re really good at guitar and…you can really sing.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know much about everything else. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah. Of course.” But somehow it feels like he were asking something else. Sure of what? I want to ask. Because at the moment, it feels like he’s asking me if I’m sure I want to be in this space. With him. If I’m sure I really want to let him in. If I’m sure _I_ want him to let _me_ in.

I reach out for the trackpad. “So let’s start?”

 

***

 

I’ve never talked this much before. Not even for radio. Actually, I barely even talk on radio. I just give out some kind of introduction, pass on the talking duties to whoever else I’m with and lurk in the background and let my music speak for itself. At first, I was really conscious of the sound of my voice, my stutter when I get nervous, and the words coming out of my mouth. But music tech is something that gave my life a sense of purpose. So after a while, I guess I forgot about what I was doing and just did it.

“We can take a break if you want,” Sungjin says.

“It’s fine,” I answer. I can go on longer. I pull all nighters just to get a mix right. “I guess…I think…I just need something to drink?”

“Okay. Are you hungry? It’s past dinner time.”

I usually forget the simple things like eating and drinking when I’m caught in the middle of work. But now that he’s mentioned it…”Kind of, I think. But mostly thirsty.”

“Okay. I’ll go get something for you.”

I stand up. “I’ll go with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Outside air will do us both good.” To breathe, I tell myself. Not because I don’t think I can focus in a place that smells and feels so much like Sungjin. Warm. Clean. Like guitar lacquer and soap and detergent. 

“Bring a jacket,” he says, holding the door open. “I know it’s getting warmer but it’s still cold at night.”

I pass by him and feel the awkwardness when I look up at his face. Just moments ago, he looked so defeated. Sungjin’s smiling now. Softly. Warmly. I duck and stumble out into the hall. We walk down mostly in silence. Sungjin talks only to say things like ‘Watch your step’ or ‘Let me get the door’ and derivatives of.

Without being too obvious, I stretch my legs, arms, and back as we walk in search of sustenance. Sungjin doesn’t say anything, which I appreciate. My throat and my lips feel so tired. How do people talk so much? I feel so drained of everything.

We end up at a convenience store just off campus. It’s not the same one as Young K and I hang out in— I saw him the other night but we really didn’t talk much, we just sat together while we both drowned in assigned readings. Sungjin gets a large bottle of water and juice. After that, we stop by a cafe and get takeout sandwiches. For some reason, we end up eating and sitting shoulder to shoulder on a bench outside the music building, sandwich wrappers still in our hands.

“I have a question, if that’s okay,” I ask, looking down at my bottle of water.

“Of course.”

“Is the reason you’re pretty much taking Professor Park’s songwriting class because you never were a music student?”

He nods and turns to me. “I never had formal training until Professor Park recommended it. I’m lucky he even took me in and gave me a chance. I have to learn this year all four years of what you do if I want to stay with the program. It isn’t enough that I have a degree in Psychology. Professor Park wants to make sure I have all the proper competencies for the rest of my scholarship. It's…it’s been complicated. I’m passing my classes, but barely. There’s just so much work to catch up on.”

“But you’re doing okay, right? I mean…you’re still in the program. You’re catching up with double homework?”

“It’s the Music Tech classes that’s getting to me. I try to sit in in as many classes as professors let me, make friends with tech students, or anyone really. If I can help someone in a way they need me to and they can return the favor, then that’s even better. But not necessary. That makes me sound like I use people for my benefit.”

“You sound like you pick the smartest kid in class and suck up.”

He laughs. “I don’t do that. I’m just a really friendly guy? People like me, for some reason. If they just happen to be the smartest girl in class, then that’s not a bad thing.”

“Since you brought it up, girls probably think you like them. All the time.”

“It’s not like I ask them out! I can’t do that, technically. Legally.”

I can’t help but frown at him. “Because you’re a TA. I know that. But do they know that?”

“It’s good that you know that,” he says. He seems to be turning something around in his mind. “And if it gets to that, then I tell them it’s not what they think.”

“So that’s it? You get people to teach you all this stuff and do your homework for you? That’s how you survive double load work?”

“I get them to explain things to me. Or show me how to do stuff. You’re the one who’s going extra and holding my hand through the entire process.”

“I feel so used right now.”

He laughs again and nudges my side. “But really, thank you.”

I stand up and drop our trash into the bin. “There’s an easier way to do what I just showed you earlier. But you know, you need to know the long way before the short-cut—“

Sungjin takes my hand just as I’m about to walk off. “I’m serious. Thank you.”

I hold his gaze for a moment, then, reluctantly, let go of his hand.

 

***

 

Another two hours, and my back is acting up. My shoulders feel tight and my eyes are blurring from staring at the screen too much. Sungjin rubs his eyes and suppresses a yawn. There’s an entire segment of the track I don’t remember building but it’s there and I’m pretty sure I explained how to put it there and why, but it’s just not clicking. On one hand, Sungjin rested his arm over the backrest of my chair, and somehow I’ve leaned into it, and he’s leaned in closer and I’m still convincing myself it’s my body seeking warmth because studios are always so very cold…

Didn’t we just establish that this isn’t anything other than Person A helping out Person B? He’s my TA. I’m his student. And we’re working on something that can be considered a class project. Nothing wrong or weird here at all.

And leaning into him like this…it’s not wrong or weird. Jamie does it with Jae. Jackson does it with Namjoon. Wonpil does it to everybody. The incidental riot in my ribcage and Sungjin not quite so soft now…that’s probably something else.

“Take a break?” he offers. “You’re tired.”

“Sure.”

Sungjin eases out of the chair first, taking my arm away and leaving me feeling cold and _ugh_. He stretches his arms over his head, and from where I’m sitting I catch a glimpse of skin just above the waist of his jeans as his shirt rides up. I drop my gaze and hope I’m not blushing. Then I stand up and do the same.

“We don’t have to finish this tonight,” he says. “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.”

“When’s it due?”

“…Tomorrow.”

“This isn't going to take much longer. Besides, if we stop now, I’ll lose my momentum and it’ll take twice as long to get back to it. Or worse, I’ll lose my motivation to be helpful. So let’s just get this done and then I’ll show you what to do next. To prepare for the next exercise.”

“Okay.” He sits back down on his chair and sets my chair closer to him. “Come on, sit.” He reaches out for my jacket sleeve and pulls me back into it.

I feel his eyes on my face, but don’t look at him. With shaking fingers, I get back to work.

 

***

 

Since we’re already at it, I offer an advanced lesson and we move to my laptop for a demonstration. Doing that moved us to the couch. Partially because my back hurts and the couch is more comfortable, and partially because there’s no more space on the audio workstation for me to set up.

Because my voice is running out, really it’s almost gone, Sungjin sits even closer to me, our sides aligned against each other, knees rubbing against each other and elbows tangling between us. He’s even warmer up close. And ugh. So close I can breathe him in and still not get enough of it.

At some point, Sungjin puts his arm around my shoulders. I was finding a place for my back, a way so our elbows don’t collide all the time as I work through our track progress, and Sungjin just lifted his arm, reached over, and pulled me into him. At first, he kept his hand on the backrest, but somewhere along the way his hand dropped to my shoulder and stayed there. I try not to squirm or move so much, afraid that I might hit him or move my sharp edges into his soft parts. But when I try to subtly change positions, Sungjin just holds on to me to adjust accordingly.

I feel him breathing against me, his breath on my hair and my ear, and his chest rising and falling against my ribcage. The muscles on my neck and shoulders have never felt this stressed out before, like they can’t decide if they’re relaxed or tense. They just ache in such a different way than before.

“Another break?” Sungjin asks softly.

“I’m fine…just…” I reach over for my water. Something that involves reaching across Sungjin, and practically wrapping myself over him, curving upon him as I retrieve the bottle. I take a drink and set my water closer to me.

“Okay,” I say. But I need to move again, find a more comfortable position. 

I wiggle my back into the couch, but Sungjin takes my arms and settles my back against his chest. He moves to rest his back against the armrest and he pulls me along with him. “Is this okay? Are you comfortable?”

I settle into the warm cotton of his jacket. His chin fit right just above my head. I set my computer steady on my lap just as his legs go up onto the couch. I do the same, relaxing against him. He pulls me even closer to make sure I don’t fall off.

“Okay?” It’s almost like he’s checking if laying here like this is okay, if I’m okay, giving me a chance to change my mind without using so many words.

I lean my head into the juncture of his neck and proceed with the lesson.

 

***

 

I play him a song, an old composition to demonstrate what I was teaching him about digital audio workstations. Sungjin’s reactions are all so visceral. He draws in a sharp breath at the end of the intro, his ribs expands at the chorus, and I feel a thrum of approval from deep in his throat at the bridge. There’s too much of Sungjin. Too much of his arms holding me steady (holding me from falling apart), of me cradled _within_ him.

After the song ends, Sungjin closes the lid of my laptop and sets it down on the floor. It’s late. I’m tired. He’s tired. We’re both half-asleep. I shift again, a little to my side and Sungjin pulls me _onto_ him. My chest pressed against his, elbows and arms finding ways into his jacket, down his sides. And him, his arms find their way around my back.

He’s beautiful up close, I realize. His eyes now, they're dark now, not shining like they did when I first met him, but they were still so mesmerizing. Like you can get lost in them. And his lips, his bow-shaped lips. Just perfect. His nose nudges my cheek, and I sigh into him.

Ever so slowly, his lips fall onto mine in a sleepy haze. My eyes flutter close, while the rest of me falls apart, open and soft. Sungin’s kisses are exactly like him. Warm. Gentle. Soft. Never chasing, never demanding. Just patiently waiting. Giving, taking. Drawing out from me a melody and putting back in the words.

It’s all just something…something…and knowing that it’s perfectly something.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Consciousness comes to me slowly.

I don’t wake up at the sound of my alarm, but I startle when I roll over to the side, grasp through air, and fall on my butt. That’s when I see Sungjin sleeping soundly on the couch, arm dangling from the side I had been in. The arm around which I had fallen asleep in.

 _Now_ I’m awake.

As quietly as I can, I scramble to my feet and gather all my belongings, making sure I don’t wake him up. Sungjin doesn’t stir as I move about and his breathing remains slow and rhythmic. He looks so peaceful, so beautiful, I feel a twist of regret leaving the safe warmth of his arms. But that’s also exactly why I need to go. Sungjin is my TA. There are rules against this kind of thing. And even if he wasn’t, this should have never happened anyway. Once I have everything, I open the door slowly, peek through the gap first, and when I’m certain there’s no one down the hall to walk into, I leave. I run the rest of the way back home.

When I get to the apartment, Huiryong, all dressed-up, is just about to leave for work and Ayeon, still in her pyjamas, is pouring milk over her cereal.

“You couldn’t call last night?” Huiryong asks. She has one hand holding herself steady while the other is zipping up her ankle boots.

“Last night?”

Ayeon settles into her usual seat and pulls her knee up to her chin. “Yeah, you didn’t come home. You could at least tell us you had radio or whatever. We worry too, you know.”

“Oh.” I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until I let out. I slip off my sneakers and kick them underneath the shoe rack. “Yeah. I was actually working.” Not technically a lie.

“Yeah? Well, next time please let us know, okay?” Ayeon points her spoon at me .”For real. I know we’re all used to late nights but give my poor heart some room to relax.”

Huiryong just chuckles softly to herself. “Yes, mom. Don’t forget Catharsis tonight. You too, Workaholic.”

I cross the room and walk into my room. “No.”

“Yes,” Huiryong yells from all the way to the front door. “Yes, you are. I’ve had it with your pity party. But fine, if you’re still so insistent on not going, then fine. Don’t ever hold it against me that I never helped you out or that I wasn’t understanding because I was there for you and I’m here for you still, but you’re pushing this issue way too far. I’ve had it. So you either show up tonight or you stay in here for the rest of your life.”

The front door slams in her wake.

Ayeon appears through the bedroom door. “She has a point.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

She shrugs, seemingly unaffected. Crossing her arms over her chest, she says, “You know you can talk us, right? That’s what we’re here for.”

It’s too early in the morning for this. Too much too soon when there’s so much going on in my head right now. Professor Park’s songwriting project, songwriting in general, recovering from everything else that’s happened this past year, Joonyoung using my song and my arrangement, and now Sungjin. I don’t need my roommates bothering me with all this talk business. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you, really?”

“I’m really tired and I have class in a couple of hours. I just really want to sleep now. Can I do that?” I don’t mean to make it sound so harsh or insensitive when Ayeon has been nothing but sweet to me. Between my roommates, she’s always been the one to buffer Huiryong’s intensity. She doesn’t deserve this from me, and I I turn to apologize.

Ayeon’s lips press into a stubborn line. “You know what, fine. Put up all these walls. We can only keep knocking for so long.”

Then she’s picks up her change of clothes and spends the rest of the morning in Huiryong’s room. The last I hear from her is the sound of the front door opening and closing. I lay in my bed for the rest of the morning waiting for sleep to arrive. It doesn’t. Operating on autopilot, I get up for class, barely register what’s going on all afternoon, and go back to sleep as soon as I get home.

 

* * *

 

I wake up after midnight, curled in my bed suffering from the aftereffects of a nightmare. It’s always the same one, a dark shadowy figure chasing me around a dark alleyway. Sometimes there will be blinking lights, other times the terrain changes, but it’s always the same feeling of running out of time, fire inside my throat, and dead weight in my gut. Wiping the sweat off my brow, I push myself out of bed, into the shower, then into some clothes. I can’t stay in this house. Huiryong and Ayeon won’t be back until dawn, and I want to avoid them as much as possible for now. Let the issue blow over before we start talking again.

It was like this the first year we lived together. Not even Ayeon and Huiryong got along. It’s not until late last year that we really felt like we started to really know and understand each other. I guess I was wrong. At least about them knowing and understanding me. The two of them got along just fine. They’re probably having so much fun right now.

I wish I were there with them.

Young K is studying in his usual seat at the convenience store when I get there. He doesn’t notice me at once, head down buried in his books and his pen scribbling furiously on his notebook.

“Why don’t you ever study in a normal place like everybody else in the normal world?”

He doesn’t even look up, not when I take the seat across him or as he responds. “Why be like everyone else?”

“The keyword there was normal.”

“Normal is a myth,” he chuckles. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah. Hi.”

We sit in companionable silence for about twenty more minutes. Something about the steady scratching of of his pen on paper is calming. Maybe because it reminds me of a slow beat of a song that sounds a lot like rainy days. I get up and buy us coffee from the vending machine.

“Thanks,” he says absently, “next time coffee is on me.”

“Don’t think about it.”

A moment of silence passes between us.

Young K looks up. “What’s wrong?”

I avert my gaze. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

Young K wedges his pen into his notebook and sets it aside with his books. He leans both elbows on the table. “Hey. Talk to me. You look awful.”

“Words every girl loves hearing. Good job, Casanova.”

“You know what I mean.”

A part of me had hoped it would come to this. Isn’t this the point of having someone like Young K in my life? To dump all the things I can’t share with everyone else too close in my life. No guilt here because it’s been an equitable reciprocity between us thus far. I take a breath. “Where do I even begin.”

He checks his watch. “It’s a long night. Have at it. I find it best to start at the beginning.”

The beginning is too far back. “I had a fight with my roommates.” I realize saying that means backtracking to everything else that’s happened in my life. I can skirt around the issue, but how much or how little should I say and still make sense?

“Well, that’s normal enough. Was it bad?”

“Worse than usual.” 

“Like unforgivable worse than usual?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but this is the worst fight we’ve had since ever. I feel sick thinking about it. I hate fighting with them. But this…this is my fault I think. In a way. I wish it wasn’t? But I also wish they’d just give me space and not push me into doing things the way they’d do something.”

“Maybe they’re worried you’re just procrastinating on purpose. Tough love?”

“When I’m thinking about it like this, talking to you and being this far away from the issue, it all seems so petty? But in the moment, it’s like I shut down.”

“This is gonna sound like really radical advice so bear with me.”

I nod.

“Have you tried talking to them?”

Easier said than done. “We barely even see each other anymore. It’s ridiculous. We argued a lot when we were all in school and that was nothing, you know? Just small stuff we forget about in the morning and laugh about when we think about it now. But this one…”

What I’m trying to say is I’m afraid they’re tired of me now. That I’ve lost them because I can’t get over myself. Maybe Huiryong was right. I’ve been in this pity party forever. But she doesn’t understand?

“More reason to just go out, just you girls and, I don’t know, what do girls do to bond?”

“A bunch of things.” Some of them out of my comfort zone, but there are other things that we can all enjoy as a group. What we need is time. And time is the one currency we don’t have. 

“It’s probably not the same thing, but when my roommates and I fight, which is a lot I’ve told you about this, we kind of just go do something together. I mean, we run it out then talk it out. Really express yourself honestly. Fights are normal.”

“Thanks. For listening.” We’re roommates, we’re supposed to fight I know, but how do you know when you’ve crossed a line? Speaking of lines. I groan into my palms. “Also I did something really stupid.”

“How stupid are we talking about?”

“ _IkissedmyTA_.”

A wrinkle appears on his forehead. “I’m sorry, what?”

I repeat myself, slowly this time, actually breathing between each word to space them out. “I kissed my TA.”

Then I hold my breath and wait for his reaction.

He blinks. Then blinks again. And again. His expression is a mix of shock and maybe a touch of awe. “You did what?”

I sigh regretfully. “I kissed my TA.”

Young K doesn’t do a good enough job at stifling his grin. “Did you enjoy it?”

“What?”

“It’s not like you can _unkiss_ the guy! Might as well figure out if you liked it or not.”

“He’s my _TA_.”

He shrugs, not even a little bit bothered by this. “Look, as far as normal goes, I’m sure people kiss people they don’t think they should all the time. It’s a matter of perspective.”

“Yeah but…”

He suddenly turns serious. “Didn’t you want to?”

“No! I mean…It wasn’t like that…” That’s the problem. “I wanted to.”

“And so you did.”

I nod.

“And?” he prompts.

“I really _really_ wanted to. It was very nice.” I can feel my cheeks overheat just talking about it. This is what I need Ayeon and Huiryong for. This is the kind of conversation they’d have meaningful advice for. I miss them so much already but I don’t know how to reach out to them. “But he’s my TA.”

He makes a sound from the back of his throat. “Yeah, so? If you wait enough the semester’s almost over anyway. Then he’s not your TA anymore and you can date him. If that’s what you want.”

 _Is_ that what I want? I press my palms on my hot cheeks.

“If, you know, it wasn’t _just_ a kiss.”

Thoughts of Joonyoung’s kiss, _only a kiss_ , inundate my better sense. I really hadn’t the time to process the aftereffects of last night with Sungjin. All I know is I wanted to be there. I chose to be there. And when he wordlessly asked if he could kiss me, I said yes. But now I don’t know where my head is at because what if it only was _just_ a kiss? That once again, I’m the one overanalysing a moment when there’s nothing to analyse at all. Isn’t this what got me into this mess in the first place? Misreading a moment?

_Okay. Calm down._

“I’m not sure about that last bit,” I confess.

“Hey,” he says, sounding as gentle as he can. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “I just haven’t really thought about it.”

“You don’t have to? I mean…maybe it’s better if you just take it for what it is?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You haven’t been talking about this girl you met anymore.” He used to talk about her _all the time_. “You did something, didn’t you? After I told you that’s the one thing you don’t do.”

“This is about you, not me,” he counters guiltily. “Did he say anything about it? Like after?”

“We really didn’t get the chance to talk about it.” Again, not technically a lie. Of course, I did run out of the scene of the crime. Why did I do that again?

“So maybe next time you can level off where you’re at.”

“That’s totally what happened to you, was it? You weren’t serious and you lead her on and now she thinks you played her when you did because you weren’t clear from the start and now you’re in so much trouble.”

Young K pales and scrunches his nose at me. “That’s not what happened! Not exactly. Not in that order and I didn’t play her or whatever that’s supposed to mean. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

His shoulders slump as he sighs. “I have a ton of work to do, but I’ll find a way to make time when I can to see her again. But she won’t answer my calls. I think she blocked my number or something.”

“So show up.”

“Yeah, I just said I’m buried in work right now.” He nervously tugs at the collar of his shirt. “But when your boy calls, answer the damn phone. Do me a favor, will you?”

I roll my eyes. Sungjin hasn’t called, now that I think about it. A knot twists in my gut. Was I waiting for him to call? For him to leave a message for me first? Was I supposed to find him this time around? He wasn’t in class this afternoon, and I didn’t even notice. I drop my face in my hands.

“Yeah,” he says, “I know the feeling.”


	15. Chapter 15

I like to think I’m not a complete disaster, but Jae points it out as soon as I walk into the station Wednesday night.

“What happened to you?” he asks as soon as I settle into the booth with him. People like to think that Jae isn’t the sharpest tool in the figurative shed but when one has a thing for tearjerker dramas and movies, one develops as sixth sense for these things.

I saw Sungjin this afternoon, but I guess he didn’t see me because he didn’t even look at me. He just went ahead and walked straight into the faculty room. I saw him again when I left my classroom and he was walking down the hall, but he was talking to someone and it must have been important because he was so focused on it to see me standing there.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap. Then I take it back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. My sleep schedule’s been out of sync.”

“More than usual?”

“More than usual.” I notice an extra chair and an extra set of things. “Wait, am I not on tonight? Jamie’s here.”

Jae bobs his head, but it’s not really an answer. “I don’t even know who goes on what day anymore,” he says. “Who even does our schedule?”

“You do?”

“Huh.”

Unfortunately, I know I’m too awake to even wonder if I’m dreaming. I don’t want to go back to the apartment in case I run into Ayeon or Huiryong. I’m still too embarrassed to face them, and honestly I’m scared of Huiryong when she’s angry. Once, one of her ex boyfriends came to say sorry and he brought in this large bouquet of flowers as an apology gift, but the poor guy had the flowers whacked into his face for even trying. I don’t blame Huiryong though, she caught the guy kissing some other girl at some other party and that’s not acceptable.

“Oh, hey!” Jamie comes in with a huge smile on her face as usual. She waves at me and takes the seat between Jae’s and mine. “Tonight’s gonna be so lit,” she beams. “I got this new playlist from Jaebum and it is giving me _life_.”

“Was that from the Thursday?” asks Jae, slipping his circular glasses off to polish them on his hoodie sleeve.

“No,” Jamie answers, rummaging through her bag. “This is the one from Saturday.”

“Oh, that one!”

“You guys were out Saturday?” I ask, feigning to be unaffected.

“Yeah, after radio. We crashed that party at Jackson’s residence. Bambam was wasted!”

Jamie bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe Yugyeom actually dared him to do that _and_ pillow surf down the stairs.”

Jae slaps his knee, still laughing at the memory. “I can’t believe he didn’t get a concussion after doing it all night.”

I don’t know who Yugyeom and Bambam are, but the way Jae and Jamie are talking about them makes it sound like they’ve met them on multiple occasions before. I can’t claim to know who all their friends and acquaintances are, I don’t think anyone can, but how much do their social circles overlap?

They continue to talk about this one other party they were at and when the next one is, and I pull on my headphones and check my monitor. I’m not really upset. I’m used to never being in on a conversation…but sometimes this sick feeling in my gut shows up at all the weird times. I like being around these people. And they’ve respected my eccentricities and understood to a certain degree that some introversions are simply so deeply ingrained we can’t change the way we’re wired. Exactly why I can’t fault them for not inviting me out. Besides, after all the times I’ve turned them down…maybe they were getting tired of me too.

I put on Jamie’s playlist and play along to whoever’s in the chatroom. Most of them just want a little cheering up for their deadlines and exams, and this time when I say I’m rooting for them, I mean it. In a way, it feels like I’m rooting for myself. All this time staying away from people, I’ve missed the companionship the good ones bring.

And maybe, just for once I want to feel like I didn’t miss out.

“So I have not seen you in a very long while,” Jamie says to me, leaning close and resting her head on my shoulder. “We need a show together.”

“And what would we do on this show?” I ask, playfully nudging her away.

“We’d dish out advice, of course.”

“On what? Mass destruction?” Jae tosses in. “Oh! _Mass Distraction_.”

Exactly what it says on our tagline. “Chicken Lethal, Weapon of Mass Distraction,” I say, “Yeah, I think we already have that pretty much established.”

“Yeah, so I was thinking we’d guest someone for the show, yeah? Like someone people will care about,” he continues.

“For the hundredth time,” Jamie sighs exasperatedly. “We are not getting a hobo to guest on our show.”

“What? No. That was ages ago when hobos were relevant. I’m talking about like a band or something.”

“This isn’t some ploy to shamelessly plug your band, is it?” Jamie asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

I stand by my statement that two people do not a band make, but your mileage may vary.

“No.” Jae clutches his chest in mock hurt. “And you’re gonna regret not getting Bob here to sing because I get chills listening to that guy. But don’t tell him I said that. Anyway. Band. I know this guy. He’s been going around some of the underground clubs and word has it he’s gotten a call from an important underground label.”

“What are your sources, even?” Jamie pulls up a browser on her computer. “Who are we talking about?”

“If I tell you, you’ll jinx it. Let me take care of that and it’ll be a surprise.”

“You realize how shady that sounds?” I ask, still unsure if this person really even exists. With Jae, you never really know for sure.

Jae levels us with a look. “Have I ever done you guys wrong?”

 

* * *

 

I miss all my afternoon classes on Friday, including Songwriting. I think about Sungjin and his warmth against me, about his smiles and the light inside his eyes. I think about that kiss and wonder if it were morning, if we were out in the sunlight, if we weren’t tired and sleepy, would it happen? Would he still kiss me if the circumstances were different?

He still hasn’t called me, or left any messages, or anything. I haven’t tried to reach out either because I don’t know how to even begin to express my question.

“Did I imagine it or did we kiss?” is weird.

“Why did you kiss me?” sounds even worse.

All day I stay in bed, curled into a ball. My roommates have come and gone without so much as a hi or hello. When Ayeon comes in, I pretend to be asleep. When she's left, I’ve already fallen asleep and didn’t notice her leave. Maybe she thought it was normal because of her work hours, because this became our habit. I feel even more sick now.

Wonpil calls again. Was I supposed to meet with him today? I already sent him my part for our homework and he can fill in everything else like he wants to. What does he need me for? I ignore the call, but a message comes in as the ringing ends.

Wonpil: Are you sick? You weren’t in class today.

I gauge how much energy I have left to do anything. I can text.

me: Yeah. Not feeling so well.

I feel like a weight much heavier than usual has covered me like a lead blanket. I want to get up, get to class, eat good food, drink sweet tea, and just be around people, hang out with Wonpil and Dowoon, but the dark cloud that had kept its distance has fogged my eyes and trying just feels like too much energy than I have left. My body feels like it’s stuffed with both cotton and metal. Inside, everything is fuzzy and muggy, but I feel like an anchor. Deadweight.

Wonpil: Oh. Get better soon. Dowoon says get well soon, too. We were gonna invite you to come see our band, but maybe over the summer?

If they mentioned a band before, it must have slipped my mind because I don’t remember it. I vaguely remember Wonpil saying he needed a drummer, but not what for. This is the part I hate the most about my head. When it starts forgetting important things. When it stops functioning like a normal person’s brain.

me: sure

Wonpil: They loved our song, by the way! I told them you mixed it.

me: thanks

Wonpil: A friend of mine is hosting a party at the end of finals and wants a DJ. Do you want me to introduce you?

me: can’t. finals.

Wonpil: End of finals! You'll be free. Are you sure? It’ll be fun!

me: worry. deadlines. songwriting is killing me

Wonpil: Ah. Yeah? Okay, if you’re sure. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll probably take the job but if you want it we can share a set.

me: ok

Wonpil: Okay. Rest well okay!

I’m already on my phone, so before I spiral into something worse than what I’m already going through, I tune in to Namjoon and Jae’s show tonight. They liked to talk philosophy sometimes and played cool indie alt-rock tracks in between. Music would help. Hearing familiar voices will help, too.

“I keep playing this song,” Namjoon says.

“That’s because you like it, genius,” Jae shoots back. I imagine he’s leaning too far back in his seat again because his voice sounds softer and distant. He probably has his guitar on him, too.

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathes. “There’s something familiar about it, even the first time I listened to the song. It’s like I knew it before I knew it, does that make sense?”

“Totally. It’s like that feeling of deja vu but in song form. I like it. I listen to this song too and I feel like I just want to stay indoors. That kind of feeling.”

“Listening to it makes me feel vulnerable. Exposed, even. You don’t hear songs like this anymore.”

“You ever wonder how music does that? Evoke all the emotions. It’s magic.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “That’s the only way to say it right?”

“So here it is, something that’s slowly becoming one of my favorite songs too. It’s called The Brightest Part of the Summer by Jung Joonyoung.”

Audibly, something inside me breaks. The Brightest Part of the Summer is _not_ Joonyoung’s song. It’s mine. I wrote that song, both the lyrics and the melody. I let him hear it, showed him the score, and played it for him often. It was meant to be in my demo. _The_ Demo. The song I send out to producers and other important people to listen to. Joonyoung didn’t just steal my arrangements. Now he stole my song, too.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to cry.

That’s the thing about betrayal, isn’t it? It feels like someone ripping your heart out.

 

_When I was young, I promised I’d never let myself break_

_So tell me love you me but don’t say it in words_

_Lift up the shade let the sun come in_

_You’re the brightest part of the summer_

 


	16. Chapter 16

Jae won’t stop texting me and complaining about how awful the music is at this party he’s at. 

It’s the end of the semester, finally. Officially. Somehow I’ve managed to survive, but only just. I showed up for finals and made most of my deadlines. Most of them. I knew I wouldn’t be getting a decent song out of me while my head wasn’t on right so I put it off until the muses came to me. They never did. They never do. I’ll just have to fail Songwriting if I don’t get my demo done tonight. Showing up for the class felt like such a chore, I skipped the last few meetings. I didn’t want Professor Park asking about my demo, and I didn’t really want to see Sungjin either. Besides, I’m sure he’s found some other girl to help him with his homework anyway.

I try not to text Jae back. Easier than usual. I couldn’t think of anything to say anyway. If he really couldn’t stand the music, he can always just take over himself. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before or that he doesn’t have the capacity to just go to wherever the music is coming from and tinker himself.

“My head is literally going to explode if I have to hear this song one more time. Literally.”

That is not likely to happen so I ignore the text. Jae is just getting me to show up at this party for one reason or another. I know I said I wish they invited me out more, but bad music isn’t exactly enticing. He’s probably at Jackson’s. Seems like there’s a party there every week.

My phone chimes with another message. With a photo this time.

“Everyone’s here!”

Attached is a picture of the whole Sweg Crew without me. Jae is making a face, and his favorite tortoiseshell glasses are askew on his face. He’s holding up his phone, hence the terrible angle because to this day he has no idea how to work his front camera, and Jamie, Jackson, and Namjoon are in various spots squeezing their faces into the frame. Each of them making an expression more ridiculous than the person next to them.

“Come on! We’ll wait for you. We didn’t ditch radio for nothing!”

“Kidding. We told Eric. He said OK.”

Okay, admittedly this makes me want to show up just for fun. Which is the point, isn’t it? Fun?

I like them enough, but I don’t like parties. I like playing for parties, but that’s because DJ-ing doesn’t really involve me interacting with anyone. All I have to do is control the crowd from behind the console and make sure everyone’s dancing and having fun. No talking required. No mingling.

But it’s starting to feel like I’m the only person in this building right now. Which is ridiculous because this isn’t a college residence and there are families who live here and people who, like me, prefer to stay in on a Friday night. Because a Friday that just happens to be the last day of the semester is only relevant to a college student. Ayeon and Huiryong are away—something about the both of them having events, those two always working at an event how do they do it? So I’m all alone. Again.

I should probably text Jae back now. Before he gets antsy and starts sending music clips of this awful party. Even if they look like they’re having fun. It’s been so long since I went out with them. With anyone.

But these songs aren’t going to write themselves.

See, this would be easier if I don’t think about Sungjin at random times. Sure, I guess I don’t have to wait for him to make the first move. After all, when you look at it from a certain perspective, I did leave first. I’m the one who ran out. It’s not like it was just a kiss. It was a good one, something that felt like a prelude to an even better one if we were both properly awake. I spent the night with him. Studying, sure. But I spent the entire night and stayed awake for him. I slept with him. Never mind that it was sleep, literally in the most innocent way there is. And I still left. If he left before me, I’d have felt _rejected_.

Even after sleeping so perfectly all tangled up and warm. 

Everything about Sungjin is warm and steady. It makes everyone else look _cold_ and _wobbly_. I think about Sungjin in comparison to Jae, and Jae is just loose in the joints like he doesn't put effort into standing up whereas Sungjin looks like he’s the ruler people measure up to determine what vertical is. Young K seems glacial now, all sharp and icy next to Sungjin. Wonpil would be too much light and energy always giving wide smiles. I hate that Sungjin is so easy to smile at people too, so easy to talk to, everyone’s talking to him and smiling at him. And Dowoon…well I won’t really know because I don’t really know Dowoon that well.

What if I didn’t wake up first? Would Sungjin have left or would he have held me until I woke up? And when we did wake up, would it be awkward? Would he just laugh it off? I don’t know what’s worse. Freak out because it’s a big deal or pretend like it’s not a big deal? Would he have kissed me again? Or is it something we just file away as if it never even happened?

I stare at my song progress and will it to move forward. I’ve been working on it for two hours now, but other than the drums and a bit of synths, it’s all I have. I don’t even have a melody yet, much less lyrics.

And what’s the point of composing anyway? Not after someone else takes credit for all the work I’ve done. It just all feels so pointless now.

I shut my laptop and get up. And see myself on the full length mirror.

At least I look like a person?

I’m not the Cool One like Huiryong or the Cute One like Ayeon. I’m just me. A little lanky, and with both soft and sharp parts that are not quite enough to match whatever the standard is these days. Instead of wearing a pastel dress or skin-tight jeans and a midriff, I’m in old lady pants and a hoodie. I don’t look like I’m about to go to a party. I don’t look like I’m about to go anywhere.

I double back into my room and dig into my closet. In principle, I always understood the panic of having to choose something to wear. Ayeon and Huiryong often had emergency meetings deciding on what outfit was appropriate where. A certain look said “Just going out, no big deal” and another said “Yes, I’m going to a party” or “I have a hot date tonight” and apparently all mine says is “Don’t talk to me I’m cold”.

Diving into my closet, I look for clothes that are somewhere in between Ayeon and Huiryong and somewhere in the range of “I’m going to a party but I don’t want to look too prepared”

Eventually I find a good pair of black skinny jeans that had rips that look like they were meant to be there and a deep red v-neck shirt that doesn’t fit like it’s two sizes to big. It hangs on me alright, I think. Like there’s an actual human female body underneath and I’m not a clothes hanger. I smooth down my short hair as I look for a tube of lip stain and mascara. After putting on a face, sort of, kind of, I check myself in the mirror.

Now I look like a person.

With one hand, I tuck my billfold and keys into my pocket while I text Jae with the other. “Where’s this awful party you're at?”

Without waiting for a response, I step out into my white sneakers and then out the door. Sehun, my neighbour, is stepping outside their door at the same time as I am. “Did you get sexiled again?” I ask.

“Party,” he grunts. “I’m bored.”

“Where to?” I ask, checking my phone and reading Jae’s text.

“Mark Tuan’s.”

“Huh. That’s where I’m headed.” And now I have an instant buddy to get to and from this party.

“Well, that makes me feel less pathetic. Let’s go.”

 

***

 

It’s almost eleven when we get to Mark Tuan’s house, but it looks like the party is just getting started because we hear the music and we’re not even through the door yet. Mark Tuan’s house is exactly like the rumors go. It’s huge, with a wide gate and a winding driveway—it’s more of a mansion than a _house_.

My stomach twists painfully as I follow Sehun into the house. It’s almost like it’s realized what’s about to happen here and is giving me all the signs I need to back out. People. I’m going to be around new and strange people.

But I refuse to let this win.

Besides, Jae and the rest of the Sweg Crew said they’ll wait for me.

“You okay?” Sehun asks.

“Yeah, I just realized I don’t know if I know anyone else in this party.”

He shrugs. “You know me. Come find me if you want to go home.”

Inside it’s brighter and warmer, houseplants everywhere and paintings on the walls and nice furniture that’s set like it could bring all the good fortune in the universe. There was music playing, and Jae was right. The playlist sounded a lot like a lazy top ten mix, and even though people were dancing and talking, most of them were just swaying around and bouncing because they were getting drunk.

Jackson’s in the middle of the living room, talking and being silly with some other guys I don’t recognize. Someone mentions heading out to the pool, and that’s where their group disappears off to, shirts flying off and everything.

Sehun greets a couple of people we run into, and is nice enough to drag me into introductions. Someone hands him a beer and he offers it to me first. I shake my head and he takes a sip. “I found Jongin and Yixing, do you want to hang out with us?”

“I’m gonna go look for Jae,” I tell him. “I’ll see you later.”

I head straight to the kitchen because I have a feeling that’s where he’ll be. The first door I walk through does not go into the kitchen but into a long hallway that lead to somewhere else. I retrace my steps into the main living room where it’s suddenly quiet, but only for a second until new music fills the room. Better. Wonpil has set up next to the speakers, headphones on and looking the opposite of his usual self. Behind the console he looks unfeeling and a little aloof, concentrated on the music and getting people to move.

I slip into the next main room before Wonpil sees me and decides I should take a set after him. The next room looks like another living room but without the entertainment system, and this room connects to the dining room which finally leads to the kitchen. I find Jaebum and Jinyoung there, of all people, hanging out by the counter and piling chips into a bowl.

“This is weird,” Jinyoung says as soon as he sees me. “Hey you, stranger!”

“Hey you, too,” I call back. “I want to say I’m surprised to see you here but I really don’t know if this is strange for you or just strange for me.”

“For you, definitely,” Jaebum drawls. “You know Mark?” He says it like they’re good friends. They probably are.

“Not personally,” I say. “My friends are here.”

Jinyoung gasps exaggeratedly. “You have friends! These are real live people, right? We can see them?”

“Shut up,” I tease. “My friend here—” I gesture to the empty space next to me “—is offended you even say that.”

“Oh, well forgive me,” Jinyoung says, laying a hand on his chest. “I’m Jinyoung, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Jaebum just laughs it off. “Did you come here alone?”

“No, with a real live human being. I don’t think you know him. Oh Sehun?”

“From IT?” asks Jaebum.

“Yeah. You know him?” I’m not surprised. Jaebum and Jinyoung probably know everybody from working at Khunfections.

He nods with a baiting grin. “How do _you_ know him?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s my neighbor. Okay, now I need to go find the actual people who made me come here.”

“Who? Maybe we’ve seen them,” Jinyoung offers.

True. They’d know Jae and the others for sure. “Who else? I’m looking for Jae or Jamie. Or even Namjoon if you’ve seen him.”

“I think I saw Namjoon with a bunch of other guys go up the balcony,” Jinyoung answers. “Something about a dare or something. Jae was just here, I think he went to go find Jamie?”

“Thanks.” I turn to leave. “I’ll round back here if I don’t find anyone.”

I avoid the main room where Wonpil is for now and walk out the back. The pool is half-filled with people and inflatable animals, but I don’t spot a familiar head other than Jackson canon-balling into the water. In my head, I’m on tiptoes with binoculars searching Jae or Jamie out, when in reality I’m just playing it cool and trying not to make eye contact with people. I do find Dowoon walking away from the cooler with a soda and back into the main room.

Since I’m at it, I grab a beer from the same cooler Dowoon just grabbed his soda from and was at about halfway through it when I think I hear Jae’s cackling from somewhere in the main room. At least I think I know where he is? I inch closer just to make sure, and there Jae is indeed, perched on a couch arm, calling out for Brian, his roommate Brian.

“Brian, my man, my almost best buddy Brian, where are you? Are you back from the bathroom yet?” I doubt he’s drunk. Jae isn’t the type. He’s weird all on his own.

I hang back and enjoy Wonpil’s EDM trap mix and Jae hanging out being himself with a bunch of other people. Someone hands me another beer and I take it, casually checking out the crowd. I spot a few more familiar faces: Nayeon and her friends, Youngjae, Jackson’s Japanese exchange student friends, some other faces I know from class and faces I’ve seen around campus. Hanging back and lurking like this isn’t so bad, so I lean back against the wall and continue people watching. If Jae looks for me, I’ll just show myself as proof of attendance.

“You’re here!” I get attacked from behind by none other than Jamie herself. “You’re actually here!”

“Yeah, here I am. Hello there. I was looking for you.”

“You’re in a good mood!”

I show her the bottle in my hand as evidence.

“Good idea.” She grabs another two bottles from the two guys bringing out a new cooler and hands one to me. “Here. For better moods.”

I’m about to comment that she probably shouldn’t be drinking, but who am I kidding? I’m not her mom and I’m pretty sure her mom partied back in her day. There’s nothing like being twenty, so says my own mother.

“Papa Tuan’s parties are the best! There's Mark,” she says, looking out at the pool. Mark is there now, getting thrown into the pool by Jackson.

“Papa Tuan?”

“Mark’s dad.”

“This is Mark’s dad’s party?”

“Oh yeah,” she answers like it’s not the weirdest thing. “He always does this at the end of the semester. Marks graduating too, so as you can see…” She trails off as a group of girls tumble between us, dancing amongst themselves.

“I see.” I follow the girls as they crash into Nayeon and the rest of them hug it out and laugh loudly.

“Park Sungjin!” someone yells. “It’s about time!”

My heart stops beating for the full five seconds it takes for Sungjin to cross the room from the door to the stairs where Nayeon and her group are stationed. Sungjin joins them, looking more like a college student than a TA in a black shirt and jeans. Why is Sungjin always surrounded by girls anyway? He’s always smiling at them too, never mind that he probably smiles just as much at everyone else. Doesn’t he ever run out of smiles?

Not like my night isn’t bad enough.

“Woah, slow down.”

I grab Jamie’s bottle and exchange it with my empty one. “For more good moods, right?”

“What happened to you?” Jamie asks.

“Better mood, right?” I tipped the content of Jamie’s bottle down my mouth.

I refuse to let this affect me. Now that I’ve finally received a sort of, kind of, close enough answer to the hanging question involving the words Sungjin and Kiss. There are other things I need to worry about now. Like Songwriting. And Joonyoung stealing my songs. And the knowledge that this good mood isn’t going to last because I always crash just as I’m getting high.

Well, if this isn’t going to last, then I might as well make the best of it.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Jamie. “I think you need to go check on Jae, maybe?”

I slip into the kitchen for another round, and to find Jaebum and Jinyoung again—or Sehun, whoever I find first—because I’m starting to feel a little pathetic-ish on my own. Jamie’s good company, of course. As well as we get along, we still both need a buffer between us. Given that Jae’s busy, an alternative is required.

There’s someone else in the spot Jaebum and Jinyoung previously occupied, so I just grab another bottle of beer and back out of the kitchen. And bump into a warm, solid someone.

“Oops, sorry,” I keep my head down out of habit.

“I thought I saw you here.”

Well. Isn’t this just fantastic.

I look up to see Sungjin’s brows furrowed at me. “See you,” I squeak.

But he blocks the narrow doorway before I can sneak past him. He doesn't need to do much. He's imposing on his own when he wants to be. “Are you here alone?”

I take a long sip for liquid courage before I answer. I pretend not to notice his disapproving stare. Annoying. We’re at a party. I’m not a child. “Why is everyone asking me that question? No, okay? I came with someone. Now I need to go find that someone again.”

I step to the right, but Sungjin doesn’t even have to move to take up space, both physical and figurative. “You haven’t been attending class, where were you?”

“None of your business.”

“Professor—“

“Yeah, I know, Professor Park this and that. Did he make you attend this party to check on all his students, too?”

His jaw clenches tightly. “No,” he says darkly. “I—“

“Did you come here with a date?” I cut in. “You should go find her.”

I push past him and go find someone I know. It doesn’t even matter who at this point. I just need to get away from Sungjin and all his stupid questions and his stupid face. Jamie’s disappeared again, and I can’t find Sehun anywhere on this floor. When I check my phone, he’s left a message saying he hasn’t left yet in case I can’t find him. But he is busy trying to get his friends out of a drinking game with some other guys.

Jae has disappeared somewhere too, probably still looking for Brian. Wonpil has taken a break from DJ-ing, but has put on a pre-mixed playlist for us to enjoy. He’s currently hanging out with Dowoon and Jaebum and Jinyoung. This seriously shaves down the number of people I can use as human shields to avoid Sungjin.

So I do the smart, rational, adult thing to do.

I grab another beer and make another sweep around the house, playing hide and seek with the most annoying TA to ever exist. I lose count after my fourth bottle, but the party doesn’t look like it’s about to wind down just yet

So I kick back and lurk some more, warding off sleep and inebriation as best as I can.


	17. Chapter 17

I'm not usually the type to not remember falling asleep. Even at my worst episodes, I remember the moment when my eyes close and I lose consciousness. But all I remember from last night is avoiding Sungjin like he was patient zero of the zombie apocalypse, feeling his eyes checking in on me from a distance every couple of minutes, and making up for all the parties I’ve missed in the form of excessive drinking. Hence the hangover. It does not help waking up disoriented to a strange and unfamiliar place with your head about to split open.

I roll over to the side and know immediately I’m not in my room. First, the bed _feels_ different. The mattress is a little tougher, the sheets (they’re blue, mine are _not_ blue) smell freshly laundered, and the pillows are softer. Second, the light is in all the wrong places and not yellow enough. Third, I’m lying in the bottom of a bunk bed. Ayeon and I had two singles. Slowly, I push myself to my elbows and that’s when everything else falls into place. Or falls apart. Your point of view.

Body check always goes first.

This is where the horror begins. My jeans are nowhere to be found, as is my shirt. All my underthings are intact, albeit underneath a large cotton plaid shirt. The interesting thing—and I use the word _interesting_ to find a silver lining in this mess—about this situation is that I’m wearing it backwards so the buttons are done all the way up on my back. I am still wearing my socks. Sitting up, I find a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the side table.

Thanks, I guess?

While waiting for the meds to kick in, I look around. The room is neat and even without the racks of clothes next to the bed, there’s no doubt it’s a guy’s room. Two desks were set on opposite walls, both with laptops each and a scatter of office supplies and miscellaneous items—students, but no other clues to their identity or, at this junction, their major. Now that I think about it, it’s _too_ neat for a college guy’s dorm room.

Oh god, what if I’m inside a the room of a psychopath?

I wrack my head for any other memory of last night, but it’s all a blur. I remember the music, and I remember dancing to myself, but after that everything goes blank. Do I even want to know what happened in between then and now?

I get up on unsteady legs and head for the door. As I reach out for the knob, I debate whether or not I should get more clothes, but the shirt fell down to my thighs with more than decent enough coverage. In any case, I’ll have to figure out how to get out of this makeshift straitjacket first. With a deep breath, I push the door open…and out into a continuation of the neatness from the bedroom. Everything looked _normal_.

“Kitty Kat? My Kitty Kat, is that you?”

I look up and exhale relief. Not a psychopath! Someone I know. Very well. “Jae!”

An un-bespectacled, half-asleep, still in his sleep clothes Jae jumps back at my outburst and stares at me with more surprise than what’s on my face. He rubs his eyes and shakes the sleep off his head. “Kitty Kat?”

I nod. Not a dream. “Yes. You live here. I thought I ended up with some stranger—”

“What are you doing here?”

I fall a step, taken aback. “Didn’t I come back here with you?”

The expression on Jae’s face almost says he’s going back in his mind to review last night’s events. “No. How’d you get here? And what are you wearing? Is that…?”

“Kitty? As in Kitty Katastrophe from After School Sweg, _that_ Kitty?” A head pops up from behind the sofa. A very familiar head of steel grey hair. From where I’m standing, all I see him wearing is a white shirt. He’s just woken up as well. “Wait, _you_ ’re Kitty Kat?”

It takes a full moment for the pieces to come together. Jae’s roommate. “You’re Brian?” Young K is Brian. Jae’s roommate Brian Kang. “Since when were you Brian?”

“I’ve always been?” he answers, twisting on the sofa and resting his elbow on top of the backrest. “What are you doing here?”

“Does that mean I didn’t come back here with you?”

Brian shakes his head, now just as confused as Jae and I are. “I didn’t take you back here. I’m not sure where I’m even supposed to have found you?”

“Wait,” Jae cuts in, raising his arms like a conductor. “Why would you come back here with him? Do you two _know_ each other?” Jae asks, incredulously. “Like, as in _know_ each other?”

Brian and I nod hesitantly.

Jae gasps. “How? When? Where? I need the _details_. How did this even happen? What ever happened to your refusal to fraternize with my people? What was that all about?”

“I didn’t know he was _your_ Brian,” I explain, suddenly conscious. “Why am I even explaining myself to you? That’s not really the issue here.”

“It’s a very relevant issue,” Jae stresses.

Just then, another door opens up—the bathroom based on the tiling—and out comes another familiar face. Wonpil emerges from the door in all black, long-sleeved shirt and cotton pants. He too looks up, sees all the faces, and mouth agape does another sweep of the room.

Then he calls me by my first name and asks, “What are you doing here?”

I take it Wonpil didn’t take me back here last night either. “Do you live here, too?”

Wonpil nods. “Yeah. I told you, remember? I moved out of the dorm with Jaebum and Jinyoung and now I live here. What are you doing here?”

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Why can’t I remember anything else?

“You know Wonpil, too?” Jae asks, leaning his hip against the backrest of the couch Brian’s lounging in. “Seriously?”

Another figure moves from the other end of the living room. Dowoon gets up from the mattress, wipes the sleep off his eyes and assesses the situation he just woke up into. Then he sees me and his eyes double their size.

“I’m freaking out now, you all live here and obviously I’m here so someone tell me who bought me home last night. _Please_?”

Someone clears his throat and I turn toward the kitchen. Park Sungjin is standing next to the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed, and eyes intensely focused on me. 

 _Park Sungjin_.

My Songwriting TA Park Sungjin lives here in this apartment with my best friend Jae Park, my convenience store buddy Young K aka Brian Kang, my childhood friend Kim Wonpil, and Yoon Dowoon (does he live here, too?) whom I’m still deciding how we’re linked but I’m going with New Friend. Like the rest of the boys, Sungjin still hasn’t change out of his house clothes. He looks very comfortable in a thin grey shirt and lounge pants, and despite my better sense I think to myself that it’s perfect cuddling wear.

“Sungjin,” I squeak, pulling my head out of the gutter. “You live here?”

Sungjin’s jaw tenses as he eyes each of his roommates. “Yes. How do you know everyone?”

“Me?” Jae scoffs. “Kitty Kat, how do _you_ know Bob?”

“You’re Bob?” My voice is barely a whisper. I’m trying not to freak out, but I think freaking out in this situation might be the only acceptable response. Jae’s been trying to get me to go out with Sungjin all this time? “He’s…he’s my TA.”

Brian’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “He’s your TA?” It sounds innocent enough to unknowing ears, but to mine it sounds a lot like _He’s_ that _TA? The one you kissed TA?_

I nod and Brian covers a gasp with his hand on his mouth.

“Wonpil is a childhood friend, if anyone is interested in knowing,” Wonpil offers, raising his hand. “We went to piano academy together, too. We compose together, she’s a genius.”

I nod at him to put his hand down. That's already far too much history I share with all the guys who live here. Of all of them, I just had to kiss Sungjin. Just _had_ to spend the night on his bed. In his clothes. It just _had_ to be Park Sungjin.

Sungjin sighs and steps toward me. “Your clothes are still in the dryer,” he says. “Maybe you should wait inside the room.”

I don’t even take the moment to let the implications of that sink in.

“Why?” Jae whines, “Aren’t you gonna make us breakfast? You don’t make us breakfast anymore Sungjin.” Brian nudges Jae to make a point, but I don’t think Jae’s really bothered that much by my current state of undress. Probably because all the important parts of me are well covered. And no one's really looking. “What? Don’t you want breakfast? Aren’t you even gonna offer her breakfast? For shame.”

Is it just me who finds this situation odd and embarrassing? Does no one intend to gift me a clean and shame-free exit for a morning after? The way their apartment is planned out, there is no way I won’t run into them, but the least they could have done is ignore me and stay inside their bedrooms. Why are they all even up so early anyway?

Is it even still early? I don’t know anymore.

“Of course I made breakfast,” Sungjin mutters. “But it’s not for you.”

“How could you not make _me_ breakfast?” Jae whines, sliding next to Brian on the couch.

“And why would I do that?” Sungjin says, stepping closer to me as if to herd me into the room. “I don’t even like you.”

“False. Deny it all you want, but I know you love me.”

Wonpil folds his arms over each other. “How did you even get here?” he asks me. “Because I was asleep on the bed out here and Dowoon and I were the first to arrive.”

“Oh yeah,” Brian twists around by the waist to look at Sungjin. “What time did you arrive because when Jae and I got back here we didn’t see you. Did you sleep on the couch?”

Good question. I turn to Sungjin.

But Jae answers that question first, “Dude, it’s Sungjin. What do you think he did? The entire scene would have been G-rated. He’s like a living Disney film. He probably pulled the blanket over her and then caressed her forehead and then duly guarded the door.”

“You don’t know if that’s what happened,” Wonpil says, “Is that what happened?”

Sungjin rolls his shoulders to ease the tension in his neck. Somehow, right at this moment, I feel much more sorry for him than for myself.

Dowoon ambles forward from the spare mattress and squeezes himself between Jae and Brian. “How did you end up here anyway? I mean, this apartment specifically. Did you come with Sungjin?”

“I’m still a little hungover, to be honest.”

“It’s destiny, obviously,” Jae adds. “Right?”

“Or coincidence,” Wonpil counters.

I back into the room because I don’t need my headache coming back a million times worse just form hearing the rest of them talk about me. Sungjin follows me inside and carefully closes the door behind him.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m not sure I’m not dreaming, actually.” I lift my hands and the too long sleeves dangle down my fingers. I feel the heat creep back up my face. “What happened to my clothes?”

“You threw up on your shirt,” he says matter-of-factly.

I groan into my palms. “Yeah, that sounds likely. What happened to my jeans? Did I ruin those, too?”

Sungjin’s ears burn red and his eyes fly up to the ceiling. “No…you were wearing them when I got you to change your shirt, but then you said it was really warm and then I couldn’t keep you in your clothes…”

“So you put me in straitjacket to protect your honor?”

“Yeah…it was really awkward.” I can hear him smiling and feeling so conflicted about it. “I promise, I didn’t do anything weird. I kept my eyes straight ahead and my hands where it was safe and—“

“Hey,” I cut in, “it’s fine. Somehow I feel like I’m still the one who exploited you even after all this time.”

“Don’t be silly…it wasn’t like that. I knew your building but you weren’t telling me which unit you lived in or even what floor and your phone’s dead. It’s over there, by the way…”

“Thanks again. You didn’t really have to…do this much.”

He shrugs. For once, he doesn’t have anything to say. “I’ll go get your clothes.” 

He leaves the room and comes back after a couple of minutes. There’s some bickering and nagging outside, but nothing I can clearly make out. I hear Jae and Wonpil’s voice loudest, and then Brian whining somewhere in between, but that’s about it. Sungjin comes back looking exasperated, but the expression is replaced by an apologetic one as he hands me my clothes.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. I’ll let you change.”

Now I’m faced with a problem. “Uhm.”

“Yeah?”

The heat creeps up my neck, my face, and my ears again. “Can you…help me undo the buttons I can’t reach?”

His ears are definitely neon pink now and they look like they must hurt, but his face remains calm if a little too tense. Sungjin steps forward as I turn my back to him. My pulse races and my heart pounds loudly in my ears. It feels like my ribcage is about to burst open and he’s not even doing anything yet.

Sungjin’s breath tickles my hair and the back of my ear when he stands behind me. The warmth that radiates off him is inundating in his proximity, and I’m surrounded by the scent of his detergent and just _him_ and my breaths are starting to come out shallow and uneven. Slowly, Sungin’s hands come to the top button, then the next, and wherever his fingers ghost on my skin, I feel _everywhere_.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “A little better.”

“Well that’s unfortunate.”

I look at him from behind my shoulder and receive a level look from him.

“Because I think you deserve to suffer a bit more, don’t you think?” That’s a mouthful for him to say when he’s red all over.

I open my mouth but snap it shut almost immediately. _Me_? I’m the one who has to suffer? Haven’t I suffered enough? My eyes go back to the wall ahead.

“I know I have no right to tell you what to do, and I don’t intend to do that, but last night you were acting careless. You were acting like a freshman out on your first party.”

“Sorry,” I mumble petulantly. Wait. Why am _I_ apologizing. “Wait, no. I’m not sorry. I have nothing to be sorry about!”

His voice softens somewhat and I resist the urge to look at him. “You’re right, you don’t have anything to be sorry about…that’s not the point…just…be careful.” I look at him from the mirror across us. Frustrated, he runs his fingers through his hair and I’m momentarily bereft of his fingers on his clothes on me. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“What do you care?” I mutter under my breath.

“Of course, I do,” he utters darkly.

I turn and raise my eyes, and am staggered by the intensity of his gaze. “No, you’re just the guy everyone calls when they need help.”

“That…is true.”

“Because you always say yes?”

“If I can, I do. Having said that, next time you’re going somewhere alone at least send me a text so I can come get you if you need me to.”

“So what? So we have a mutual exploitation service?”

“It’s not exploitation if it’s _not_ against my will…” He scrubs his face with his hand. “Against your will. This is about what happened, isn’t it?”

I don’t really know how to answer that question, and I have nothing to say about it at this time. I don’t want to answer that question, actually. I look down at the floor and at my feet. Once again, I’m vulnerable and exposed.

“I knew it,” he sighs. “You’re mad at me. Because of what happened. You just keep avoiding me lately. I’m sorry if I did that. I didn’t realize it would upset you or make you feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention at all. I guess I just thought I read the situation…I’m sorry.”

“You are?”

“I shouldn’t have done it in the first place because you’re my student and it could get us both in trouble and it’s weird, right?”

“Yeah.” I guess if he puts it that way it does sound weird. Wrong, even.

“So I’m sorry.”

My heartbeat fades into almost nothing and I sit on the edge of his bed clutching my clothes close to me. When I look up at him, Sungjin looks sorry. He looks sorry _for_ me.

“It’s just a kiss,” I say.

“Yeah. That’s it. Only a kiss.”

It was _only_ just a kiss.


	18. Chapter 18

Sungjin and I don’t talk on the way back to my apartment. I don’t cry. Even if my tears are already on the verge of falling. I already feel like a fool.

Maybe because it’s true.

What was I thinking? That Sungjin likes me? Even after all the effort I put into explaining to myself why he can never have feelings for someone like me. How can I still believe that?

Was I hoping it was possible? What a fickle friend hope is, always leading you to believe in the impossible. Maybe it was because Young K—Brian—believed that it can be possible if I want it to be. And Brian, despite doing himself wrong, is nobody’s fool.

When we get to my building, I don’t linger by the stairs like I usually do when Sungjin walks me home. But neither does Sungjin stop by the landing. He follows me all the way inside the lobby.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Walking you all the way up to your door,” he says.

“What for?”

Sungjin gestures at the stairs. “Just let me walk you all the way to your door so I know you’re safe inside your apartment, okay?”

“Fine,” I huff. Doesn’t he realize this is exactly what leads to misunderstandings all around? If Sungjin doesn’t want his actions to be misconstrued, then he shouldn’t be doing things like walk me all the way to my door because such things lead to dangerous assumptions.

Boys really shouldn’t do things like walk you home, or hold you while you cry, or kiss you if it’s not supposed to mean anything.

I walk ahead of him, so I don’t see the apprehension on his face until I stop by my doorstep. “This is me, are you happy now?” I ask, fishing out my keys from my pocket.

Sungjin nods, but he doesn’t appear to be as present as he should be. It’s almost like he’s worried about something but I’m not sure what it is. But I decide I don’t care so I reach out for the door…

…only to have it slam into my shoulder.

I fall halfway into Sungjin whose strong arm instinctively curls around my waist. I clutch at my throbbing shoulder and check to see if anything’s broken. Bruised, definitely. But at least not broken.

Huiryong utters profanities. “Are you okay? What were you doing standing at the—”

“I’m fine,” I answer at her abruptly interrupted question. But Huiryong isn’t looking at me anymore and Sungjin’s arm drops like deadweight from my waist.

Neither Huiryong or Sungjin say a word. My eyes bounce between them like a tennis ball, waiting for something to happen. Anxiety twists in my gut and a bitter taste spreads in my mouth.  Huiryong, mouth agape, has not blinked since. Sungjin’s jaw is clenched tight, and his eyes are drawn tense at the edges. It occurs to me now what’s happening here. Sungjin is Huiryong’s Bad Breakup.

I slip into the apartment with my head down and head straight to bed.

I don’t even want to think about it.

I just want to pretend this never even happened.

 

* * *

 

Huiryong and Ayeon are not very good at not talking about things, but they don’t mention anything about Sungjin or about me or about the blanks in the past few days over the weekend. It helps that we’re not really talking yet. Or anyway, Huiryong and I aren’t talking. Whenever we do, it’s clipped and forcefully civil. Ayeon rolls her eyes every time.

“So remember that new bar and that new band I was telling you about?” Ayeon asks over dinner Sunday night.

We’re eating out because it’s Ayeon’s idea and the truth is, I think Huiryong’s afraid of Ayeon just a little bit. Like how the entire Sweg Crew is afraid of Jamie but none of us are willing to admit to it because Jamie will just use it against it. She already does, but there’s no need to explicitly let her know just how much power she wields over us.

Just the other day we were figuring out how to schedule ourselves over the summer break, and Jae said whoever wins rock paper scissors gets to decide the shifts. Jackson said we should stick to our current lineup since he doesn’t want to move around his fencing schedules after he’s already worked it out with his coach. Namjoon said he’s fine with whatever, but that maybe he’d take one night a week alone to play Philosophy Radio even though we all know that’s a terrible idea. Anyway, no one listened to Jae until Jamie said we should all just go with rock-paper-scissors. So we did.

So maybe Jamie ended up manipulating Jae into going with paper all the time since he’s supposed to be a manly dude and whatever, and he lost all the rounds. Jamie won, of course. Now she’s our supreme summer leader. But no one is brave enough to complain about it.

Anyway, now my roommates and I are out at our favorite family restaurant, tucked into a corner booth with the grill heating up and waiting for the meat to arrive. Ayeon didn’t so much as suggest it as demand that the three of us should go out for dinner since we haven’t done that in a long while.

“What about it?” Huiryong says, twirling her straw around her soda.

“I told you guys we’re going, remember?” Ayeon says, “No backsies.”

There's something irrevocable about the finality in Ayeon’s statement that neither Huiryong or I contest. Ayeon’s efforts are valiant, but although I’ve missed Huiryong, I can’t conjure the words to tell her so. Not even indirectly. Especially not after the knowledge that she dated Sungjin. That Sungjin was the one she kept around the longest. Because she could have fallen in love with him had she decided on her feelings for him.

There’s a rule about this, isn’t there? About not dating your best friend’s ex. About steering clear from the guy your roommate’s gone out with.

“Yeah,” says Huiryong, “I’ll be there.”

_I’ll be there._

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but think it’s a direct hit at me. Because _I_ won’t be there, and thus am a lousy friend because I never show up. And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Showing up.

“Me too,” I say, looking up from my cold tea. “I’ll be there, too.”

Ayeon eyes us both, and if I was unsure before I’m certain now that there’s something she’s not telling us. Something she’s choosing to set aside until my issues with Huiryong are settled. But Ayeon shouldn’t have to step aside for our sake.

So many _shouldn’t haves_ , and all I have are these thoughts that mean nothing until I say them out loud.

“Congrats on the whole thing,” I add. “You worked hard on it.”

“Yeah.” Ayeon smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I deserve to treat myself out, don’t I?”

“You deserve to treat yourself out regardless,” Huiryong tosses in. “Doesn’t need to have a reason. It’s special as long as you decide it is. How’s that guy you were seeing?”

Ayeon shakes her head and calls out to the auntie to refill our side dishes. “Oh, that’s wasn’t anything serious.”

For the weeks following their first official date, Ayeon had been singing in the shower, making us breakfast, and dressing up in pinks and blues more often. These days she’s been wearing white and black, and gray, and some mornings she skips breakfast, and there’s definitely no more of her crystalline voice warming the apartment in a sweet bright hue.

“What did he do?” Huiryong asks now that she’s confirmed our suspicions.

“Nothing,” Ayeon sighs. “That’s the problem. He didn’t do anything. I thought…I guess I thought we had something but…I guess it wasn’t like that.”

Huiryong mutes her profanities when our orders arrive but turn them back into a mutter as soon as the auntie leaves our table. “I hate it when that happens. You should’ve told us who he is so we can get revenge for you. Does he own a car? I have a brand new set of office keys that need to go through a baptism of fire.”

Ayeon looks more amused than scandalised at the thought. “He’s a nice guy—“

“Don’t even defend him,” I cut in, annoyed that this has to happen to Ayeon of all people. “He’s the one who’s an awful person.”

“He doesn’t own a car,” Ayeon says, stifling a smile. “I’m not really upset. I really liked him, though.”

Huiryong flips her hair over he shoulder and ties it into a bun over her head. “You know what we need? We need to air out all these grievances you have.”

“You’re the one with grievances,” Ayeon shoots back saucily. “You two, when are you going to start talking again?”

I start grilling the chicken and pretend to be busier than I actually am.

“I’m over it,” Huiryong announces, “I just needed a moment. What I’m not over is—“

Ayeon starts giggling. “Sorry, we talked about it while you were locked up in your room.”

My defenses crumble away with Ayeon and Huiryong’s laughter. “I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I’m really sorry.”

“You should be,” Huiryong says, “but that’s not what we should we talking about, is it?”

These are the days Huiryong’s inability to hold grudges is a bad thing. I suppose her moving on easily and not letting the anger take over her general wellbeing is what makes her the person she is, but I am not ready for this conversation.

“There really isn’t anything we should talk about.”

“Oh, I think there is. Don’t worry about it,” Huiryong answers, “I’m over it. I’m over him. Sungjin.”

And she was, I hear it in her voice. But in the days following her bad breakup, Huiryong was a movie cliche of unwashed hair, un-made up face, pyjamas all day long and all night long, and popcorn and ice cream and pizza every other night. I’m not sure what exactly the grounds were for the bad breakup, but it was so unlike Huiryong. Most of the guys she dated, she barely cried over. But she cried over Sungjin.

“So what was that about?” Ayeon asks. “You were out the night before, obviously. Is that where you met him? Or did you meet him before? Tell us everything.”

“I was out at Mark Tuan’s party,” I explain, “And there’s nothing to tell, Sungjin’s my Songwriting TA. That’s it. He has this weird hobby of walking everyone home if he feels like it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“He does that,” Huiryong says, “I hated it when he did that. Do you like him, though?”

“No,” I stress, “I do not.”

“‘Cause it’s okay if you do. I mean, it makes sense if you do.”

“No,” I say again. “I do not like Sungjin.”

“Are you sure?” Ayeon asks. “Because if you like him, the sem’s over and he’s not your TA anymore and he can ask you out. But If he’s just walking you home—how, even, did that happen?—then maybe best not to assume.”

Huiryong raised her eyebrows like Ayeon and I were both talking crazy. “Okay, so just to get this out there, it’s totally fine with me if you want to date him. He’s a great guy.”

“Then why’d you break up with him?” I ask.

Huiryong’s expression turns sad for a split second. “That was partially my fault,” she admits. “So you know how I couldn’t figure out how I felt for him? It’s always because he’s so intense, like I feel like I could never catch up to him. He was a lot more into the relationship than I was and it wasn’t even an actual relationship at the time. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but he took it seriously anyway. I was really upfront about it, too.”

“Okay.” I nod. “That’s not your fault.”

Huiryong continues. “I mean I’d get why he’d be so upset at me and I’d have given him the right to be angry, but I told him from the very start I’m not going to be his girlfriend and that he should probably see other girls, too. Because I wasn’t sure about him, you know? I told him that. Then he thinks he has the right to be upset at me because I called it off and started going out with someone else.”

“I remember that,” Ayeon says, “You said you couldn’t figure out your feelings because you felt like he was a bit controlling.”

“It’s relative,” Huiryong sighs, “Sure, you can say it’s a relative thing. But he really wanted to make it work when it clearly wasn’t? I mean, he’s great but just not for me.”

I take it all in, not sure how I’m supposed to even take it at all.

“But if _you_ like him,” Huiryong begins, “don’t hold back on my account.”

I shake my head slowly. “It’s really not like that.”

At least, I’m sure now that for Sungjin, it really isn’t the way I thought it was.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Ayeon’s party is at a new swanky bar called Studio J. It's right within the luxury district’s entertainment center, at home in between luxury boutiques and high-end bars. This is not the usual place I hang out in, but there’s a first time for everything. And for Ayeon, I will do just about anything.

I arrive thirty minutes before Ayeon says I should show up. Because I got really antsy this afternoon. I got ready an hour earlier than I was supposed to, got anxious waiting, and left for the bar thinking I’m likely to get lost finding my way to Studio J. I did get lost and walked aimlessly in circles for about twenty minutes before finding the entrance. Now I’m just standing here unsure what to do. I should be on the guest list so no more worrying about the lines…but now I’m worried about coming up to the door guys and looking like an idiot.

_I can do this._

_Breathe._

I step up to the club, straightening my tight skirt as discreetly as I can. I give my name to the door guy holding the clipboard and try not to cringe when he gives me a once-over. The group of couples waiting in line give me a look as well, and try as I may to ignore it, I can feel their eyes on me. It’s always like this when people think you’re cutting in line. When you don’t look the part of someone who’s supposed to be _someone._ I may be wearing something out of my usual clothing—a short denim skirt and a long sleeved cropped jumper—but that didn’t mean I was a different person already.

Door guy finally lets me in, and I’m taken aback by the dissonance in the visual stimuli assaulting my eyes. Bright lights stand out in the dim room, and I squint to better see what’s ahead. The bar is more or less the usual concept with tables scattered across the room and a stage set up front. There’s a DJ working overhead playing house music, but not enough people are dancing to it. I have a few ideas to get this crowd moving, but that’s not what I’m here for.

Going in, I swallow the nerves and steady my gait. Ayeon said she reserved tables for us but didn’t say which one and Huiryong won’t be arriving until after 10pm. This is why I shouldn’t come here early but…

“Hey!” Jae waves at me from their table near the back corner of the room. “Oh man, do my eyes deceive me? Are you actually here?”

“Get over it, Jae,” I say as soon as I’m within hearing distance. I search the surroundings immediately for any sign of the rest of Jae’s housemates. Okay, fine. I look around to make sure Sungjin isn’t here. “I’m here. Can we not make a big deal out of it?”

“Hey!” He raises his hands in surrender. “Please take a chill pill. I’m just saying what a good surprise it is seeing you outside. Where there are people.”

“What are you doing here?” I cut him off before he gets carried away. “And who are you with?” Not the best of segues, but I’ve been out of the game for so long I have no idea how peopleing even works anymore.

“The band,” he answers nonchalantly.

That sets off an awful coiling in my gut and I sink into the nearest seat. “Yeah?”

“I’d have you know,” he starts smugly, “you’re looking at Studio J’s professional hottie-slash-guitar boy.”

“Congratulations,” I say. And mean it. That explains why he’s not wearing his usual hoodie and ripped jeans. Jae, in a dress shirt and slacks. I thought I was imagining things but now it all makes sense. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“You're forgiven. Now enough about me.” Jae leans his elbow on the table and pushes his face towards me. From this angle, his eyes look huge behind his glasses. “You’ve been holding out on me. I’m beginning to question our friendship.”

I lean back and put more space between us. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Kitty Kat, my Kitty Kat. You’ve been holding out on me but now is the time for you to tell me everything. And I mean _everything_.”

“Now?” I squeak.

Jae takes pause. “Well, no. Not right now as I’m busy building a music career but tonight definitely. After our set.”

“I can’t—“

“Shush!”

“Seriously…I can’t. I came with someone—“

“What? Who?”

“My roommates!” I cut in before he gets any ideas. Now I begin to wonder how much Jae knows about Sungjin and Huiryong and if he knows what kind of mess I’m in. Or if he knows enough to put it all together the moment I mention the slightest detail.

Ugh.

So much for not wanting to think about Sungjin and Huiryong. In any context.

“I’m sure your roommates will understand. This is a matter of national emergency. And by _this_ I mean you and Bob—“ He draws his two fingers together like two people next to each other. Very close to each other.

I slap his hands out of said conformation. “There is no me and him—“

“Ah, but the other night begs to differ—“

“Look, I’m sure he does that all the time—“

Jae scoffs. “You say that, but your eyes don’t believe it.”

“Your roommate’s obviously a nice guy—“

“Care to be specific?” Jae asks though I know he’s just being obnoxious. “Because I have four of them and they’re all pretty swell dudes.”

“Sungjin,” I answer through gritted teeth. “I’m sure Sungjin was just being a nice guy. There’s nothing there for you to sink your teeth in.”

“Oh, _come on_.” He leans so far back on his seat, I’m still wondering how he’s never fallen off _anything_. “You know that I know that Sungjinnie’s not like that. So out with it. I was right, wasn’t I? He’s so good for you.”

“And the fringe benefits of how all this will be even better for you are just that? Lucky bonuses not at all ill-contrived?”

Jae clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, Kitty Kat. I find your lack of faith in me disturbing.”

I hate to ever admit it out loud, but it’s when Jae’s like this that I find him impossibly endearing I want to strangle myself. Where’s Jimin when you need her? But Ayeon is as good as any other option, and her hurrying toward the table is a sight for sore eyes.

“Oh, gosh. You’re here,” she huffs when she flies into an empty seat next to me. “I can’t believe it! You look great!”

“Thanks,” I mutter shyly. “Great party.”

“It hasn’t started yet, silly,” Ayeon laughs. “Anyway, Jae you should be backstage setting up. Opening act in twenty and Sungjin’s acting crazy.”

I almost forgot Ayeon knew Jae by association. And Sungjin. This was not part of my expected emergencies, but I hold it all in like a big girl. I can do this for Ayeon. I couldn’t before, but I will now. And maybe for myself, too. Prove I’m capable of functioning like a normal human being again.

“Jimin’s gonna be here soon,” Ayeon tells me as she and Jae get up. “And Huiryong, eventually. And a bunch of other people you know. It’ll be perfect.” She’s so excited it’s rubbing off on me. “I’ll see you later okay? Love you!”

“I love you, too?” I mutter after her.

Maybe this is what the end of the world will feel like. Like dread and bliss hopelessly tangled together.

 

***

 

I’ve heard Sungjin sing before. But not like _this_. Not with Jae’s actual band with his actual roommates. I have thoughts, but not the words to make sense of them. Not right at this moment. They called themselves Day6, and far be it from me to question what’s up with the sixth when there’s only five of them and there are seven days in a week. But all that’s irrelevant because I can’t believe this is what Jae has been asking me to see from the very start. And now that they’re sitting across me, all five of them, it feels like there’s some universe-wide conspiracy against me. But that’s ridiculous. Even with Huiryong next to me.

Like there’s a joke, and again the punchline is me.

“What a small world,” Jimin comments offhandedly at the turn of events. It’s innocent. What does she know of Sungjin? Or at least I hope she only knows what’s relevant to be known in this context.

“Right?” Ayeon agrees. Something in her energy’s changed, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“Come on,” Huiryong tosses in, raising her glass. “This is about Ayeon and this awesome opening night she organized—“

“Co-organized,” Ayeon corrects.

“Just take it all in,” Huiryong says, “Let’s make it all about you tonight. You deserve it.”

Ayeon smiles sheepishly into her glass as she lets the moment sink in. I’ve uninvolved myself with the conversations, putting myself on low power mode just so I last the night. I don’t want to be the one who brings the energy down so I remain unobtrusive yet positive. Hanging back like this, I get to see what most people take for granted.

Like Ayeon glancing at Brian when she’d take a sip of her drink. She’s keeping it discreet, but I’m not sure who she’s trying to hide it from. When she’s not looking, that’s when Brian’s eyes flit to her direction and it’s gotten the gears in my head turning. It clicks.

Suddenly I don’t feel so well.

If that wasn’t a disaster in itself, there’s Sungjin and Huiryong so awkward I don’t think anyone could even lie about it. Huiryong says she’s over it, but not once has she even looked at him, not once has she spoken to him, and she’s been talking about this guy she’s seeing a little more than usual. Meanwhile Sungjin’s been quietly staring at his drink and exploring the depths of the bottom of his glass.

Jae elbows me and leans close to speak in my ear. In English. “Is it just me or is it weird in here?”

If anyone pays attention, no one makes it obvious.

“Don’t look at me.”

“It’s like there’s this weird energy, like a weird vibe.” He shudders.

“Let me know when you figure it out.”

That shuts him up for the meantime, but as soon as I look up I see Sungjin look away. He’s sitting at the other end of the table, furthest from Huiryong whom I sat next to. There’s some design in our seating arrangement, whether or not it was done on purpose is irrelevant. Three tables pushed together, and enough distance between people who shouldn’t be anywhere near each other. Of course it’s going to be awkward.

 

***

 

There’s dancing. Why didn’t I foresee the possibility of dancing? I don’t dance, not exactly, but that’s more to do with me being me. But if you ask me, the DJ is incompetent and the only reason people are dancing is because his generic and unoriginal mixes must sound awesome to drunken ears.

Ayeon’s arm wraps around my waist. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re having fun, right? This is your having-fun-face? It looks exactly like your usual face but sometimes I can tell.”

“Where’d you get your DJ?” I ask. With a smile. Because if anyone deserves it, it’s Ayeon. I’ve been such a lousy friend there’s so much I need to make up for.

She giggles. “ _I_ didn’t. I know a really good one, though.”

“Uhm…”

“I’m kidding!” she says, squeezing me tighter. Her smile is always so encouraging, if a little to bright due to overexcitement. “Besides, people are dancing. That’s good, right?”

“Of course.” But it was too late. I could feel the seed inside me grow. Too much sunlight, too much watering, too much of healthy soil, and what grows is what love and support bear fruit to. “Do you think…?”

Ayeon gasps. “Seriously?”

I nod lamely. “I’ll be awful. I haven’t done this in a while and I don’t actually have my own mixes but…I could…”

Ayeon’s eyes grow wide as saucers. “You would?”

“For you?”

“Are you drunk?”

“A little bit.”

Barely containing her squeal, she pulls me toward the deck. Two songs later, I’m standing behind the DJ waiting for him to sign off so I can sign in. No one’s noticed me yet. But they will. Because as much as I want to hide, my music is not something you can ignore. On my good days, I know this. On my good days, I'm unstoppable.

I start strong. A shockwave of music pulsing through the speakers and straight into whoever’s in its direct path. It’s a monster of a tidal wave punctuated by a current of beats just underneath the surface. I’m as lost in the music as everyone else in this club.

It’s been so long, but my hands still know their way around and soon my eyes are closed and all that’s left is giving up sense and letting yourself go with the music. I feel it everywhere like water all over my skin. Like jumping headfirst into the ocean, feeling the pressure from everywhere, holding your breath until your lungs burn from the inside. Utterly inundated. Absolutely perfect.

They say some people live like butterflies, all at once. Tonight my metamorphosis begins and ends behind the deck, lost between the shadows and the lights of the strobe. I think to myself, this could be my last night, and of course music pours out of my veins.

My set ends a little after one in the morning. Ayeon is nowhere to be seen, as is anyone else in the group I came with. The could still be lost in the dance pit—it happens. Finding them will be a chore but I can camp out somewhere and wait for them to find me. Because as it is, I don’t think they’ll be ready to go home just yet.

I step into the narrow corridor on the way to the restrooms. Sungjin is there, standing awkwardly waiting for his turn. Maybe it’s because I’m still a little tipsy, maybe I’m still reeling from the high, but I don’t turn away or hide. Besides, I really have to wash my hands.

Neither of us say a word for a long awkward moment. Too long, in fact. The sign on the doors are still red, both occupied still. We’re both just staring at the bathroom door, waiting for it to magically open up so we can both escape this situation.

Sungjin speaks first. “Good set.”

“Thanks.”

The quiet void between us grows, and I crush the urge to compensate for it. Say something stupid. Do something I shouldn’t.

“You guys were really good, too,” I say. That’s good. Safe. Neutral.

“Thanks.”

But really, all I want to do is kiss him.


	20. Chapter 20

I’m gonna do it.

I’m going to kiss the daylights out of Park Sungjin.

And it’s not going to be sweet or romantic, or anywhere near a G rating. We’re not coming out of this with hearts in our eyes and pink blushes on our faces. I’m going to _kiss_ him. With tongue and hands and noises from the backs of our throats. I’m going to kiss him and it’s going to keep him up at night.

I’m gonna do it.

I step forward, determined to strike while I haven’t overanalysed the situation, and nearly walk into the door when it opens and misses my face by half an inch. I flatten myself against the wall as some girl in a tight black dress shuffles down the narrow hallway. I push the door shut with my foot and turn back to Sungjin, barely missing the laugh he’s hidden behind a veiny fist.

Sungjin pulls his face into a neutral expression at the opening and closing of the door on his side. My resolve hasn’t quite fizzled yet, and I close the distance between us before I lose my nerve completely. Before Sungjin decides for the both of us that this isn’t right. Grabbing him by his shirt, I push him back, deeper into the darkened area of the alcove.

“What are you doing?” he asks. But I hear it in his voice. He knows what I’m doing.

“Shut up.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Clearly not enough because you’re still talking.”

I press my trembling hands against his firm chest—I knew he’s been hiding something under all those clothes. Sungjin may look soft—no, that’s not it. Sungjin may project a strong aura, but he’s soft on the inside of his shell. He sucks in a breath and breathes out my name. Our gazes lock in a stare-down, he’s waiting for me to change my mind but I won’t let my nerves get the better of me. This time I want to be the one to leave him confused.

But how am I supposed to do that when his dark eyes gleam molten and suddenly there’s heat in his gaze. Heat, and maybe a sense of validation. As if he’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have. My heart races faster, and I feel his do the same.

Sungjin leans into the wall and I step closer. My thigh connects to his knee now, and I’m fully aware of his heat radiating off his jeans and the faint scent of his cool ocean-y cologne. I reach up and touch his cheek. His ears. Sungjin doesn’t stop me, doesn’t do anything but wait. Slowly, I bring my mouth to his.

When our lips meet, it’s nothing like the first time. The strangest thing happens, and waves of heat unfurl inside me like I’m being hit by a sonic aura burst of music. I feel it from my lips, down my body, and tingling to the ends of my hair and the tips of my fingers and toes. If our first kiss was a drizzle, then this one is a hurricane. The intensity collects in a panic in my throat, and I break the kiss.

“Okay…so…” I’m trying to sound in control, but my wobbly voice betrays me.

Sungjin’s eyes are still on me, still nothing like the warm sunlight I’ve come to associate them with. Instead, they’re dark and hooded. “So?”

“I…uh…that was it…actually.”

His big hands wrap around my waist.

I should probably say something. Or maybe leave. I don’t want to leave but it seems like a good idea before I further embarrass myself but…

I lean in for another kiss.

And it’s even more incredible than the last one if that’s possible. Sungjin makes a low guttural sound and I feel it all over my body. My fingers tangle in his shirt, but I’m not sure if it’s to pull him closer or if it’s so I have something to hold on to. I feel like I’ll still fall apart, even with his arms around me. He’s holding me so close, and yet it doesn’t feel close enough. Almost as if there’s a line we need to cross first before it feels exactly the way we need it to feel.

With an anguished moan, I angle my head to kiss him deeper. Sungjin threads his fingers in my hair and my arm curls around his neck to hold us both in place. It’s all too much and yet not enough. I can’t tell my heartbeat from his, can’t tell who’s making which sound. Something’s happening, and now I realize that though I came in thinking I was in charge, Sungjin has completely taken over now.

He moves his lips to my cheek and sucks in a breath. I don’t even notice my lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen. I can feel my head float away in a mindless haze, not unlike the feeling I get when I’m onstage and the trance has completely inundated the entire dance pit. But maybe this is better. 

“What exactly are you trying to achieve here?” he rasps.

“Not just a kiss,” I breathe. “Right?”

He chuckles into the junction between my ear and my neck and it steals the breath from right under me. “You’re very confusing.”

“Me?” Something vibrates against my thigh, and it takes a long moment before I realize it’s a phone. “You’re vibrating.”

“What?”

“Phone. I think.”

Sungjin appears startled for a moment. Then annoyed.

“I thought you said he was in the bathroom?”

“I didn’t say that, I said he said that’s where he’s going.”

Seized in a panic, I jump away from Sungjin as soon as I hear Jae’s voice followed by Dowoon’s response. I press myself against the wall and hope Jae doesn’t look too hard beyond the dimly lit areas by the doors. Sungjin’s stance is tense, his shoulders tight and maybe livid.

“I don’t see anyone here,” Jae says, “is he answering your call?”

“No,” Dowoon replies. “He’s probably around here somewhere. I’m sure he won’t leave without us.”

“That’s totally off the point…” Jae’s voice trails off as they walk away.

Or so I thought, because he suddenly swivels back to face us as soon as Dowoon’s lost in the crowd. “You two are so busted,” he says, shining a light from his phone at us.

Sungjin is glaring at him, and Jae falters for about a second before he regains his composure. “I keep your secrets,” Jae says, putting his hand over his heart. “But you need to tell me what’s happening here.”

“Nothing,” Sungjin says. “Nothing’s happening here.”

“Doesn't look like nothing.”

“It’s nothing,” I say. Stepping away from the wall and into a beam of pink light from the strobe. “We were just talking.”

Of course, Jae doesn’t believe me.

“It’s nothing,” I say again, grabbing Jae’s arms and pushing him back out into the dance pit with me. “Absolutely nothing.”

But that kiss wasn’t _nothing_. There is no universe in which that visceral of a reaction means nothing. I loved every second of it. And maybe that could potentially be a bad thing? Jae looks at me warily, like he can’t decide if he’s excited or upset. Why, though? Why would he be so conflicted about this? Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

“You and I are going to have a conversation,” he says over the music.

“About what?” I sigh. “Can’t we just have fun tonight?”

“Look, there are, like, a bajillion things going on tonight so we’re gonna have to do a recap, got that?”

My answer gets drowned in the crowd going wild when the bass drops and the club is saturated with a synth-heavy number. I recognize this sound. Wonpil.

Ayeon shows up from behind me, hugs me from behind and squeals. “I’m so proud of you! That was awesome!”

Jae’s face quickly reverts to the usual as soon as the rest of our friends arrive. The rest of the night blurs in lights and sounds, more dancing, more laughing, and more acting like the sun will never shine again.

Jae doesn’t bring up the issue, and I don’t think about it. As far as we're concerned, nothing happened. I wasn’t kissing Sungjin and Jae didn’t walk in on us. It wasn’t weird at all. For the rest of the night, I enjoy myself like any other person my age. I throw caution to the wind and forget about the semester that just ended. I feel like myself again. And maybe it’s the music talking, but I don’t care. However, one thought remains buzzing in the back of my head.

I don’t see Sungjin again for the rest of the night.


	21. Chapter 21

Jae is one of my best friends. One reason I have friends in the plural at all. I think this all the time and mean it though I never say it out loud. That being said, I'm not about to kiss and tell. Especially not when the other end of that kiss is his roommate, bandmate, and friend. Most especially when it’s the same guy Jae’s been setting me up with since forever. Sadly, there’s no avoiding Jae. So now we’re sitting together at the booth as always, this time waiting for Namjoon to bring in his special guest for tonight’s episode. Namjoon won’t tell us who it is saying it'll ruin the surprise and all that, and we don’t need to worry about the program. We’re just sitting quietly, tiptoeing about each other because neither of us wants to be the first to bring up Sungjin.

Because it's _weird_.

I’m sure this is a thing that needs to be acknowledged, but at the same time I really don’t want to talk about it. I can convince myself there’s nothing to talk about but…who am I fooling? Jae keeps throwing glances at me, awkward, then impatient, then exasperated. I never thought I’d see the day Jae would ever think first before he spoke, but here we are now.

“Look,” he begins. “I know this is awkward.”

“That would be an understatement.”

“And weird,” he adds, “and I get that it’s your life but I am your friend and as your friend I would appreciate some form of early warning signal that such liaisons have been transpiring all this time without my knowledge.”

“None of that is a thing,” I answer, barely holding in my instinct to flee. I’m already sinking far too deep into my seat as it is.

“Were you or were you not making out with Sungjin at the club?”

I scoff at him. But that’s also partially because I have no words and nothing I say will make me look innocent of the insinuations he’s insinuating when there shouldn’t be any insinuations in the first place. “In my defense, I didn’t even know you knew each other. Any of you.”

“That is not an answer!”

“That’s not the point, you’re saying it like I can’t kiss whoever I like—“

“Of course, not. You can kiss whoever you want. I don’t own you. I am not your mother. And even if I were! You’re practically legal. You’re not a child. How could you possibly think that I of all people would restrict your freedom. Honestly, I am deeply offended.”

As am I, but I’m not sure why just yet. “Then what is your problem?”

“It’s not a problem, exactly. You’re just not giving me all the facts. And I am confused. Facts given would be nice.”

“And what would you do with all these facts?”

“Be a better friend, for one thing,” he says with more force than I think he means. “I can’t be a good friend if you don’t let me.”

“I appreciate that,” I shoot back, my voice rising to match his. “What are we arguing about?”

“I don’t know,” he says pointedly. “Why am I still yelling.” He’s not, exactly. Not really. But his tone had been rather pointed.

“I don’t know how to talk about…stuff…” I admit. Not even to Ayeon and Huiryong who, for the most part, have given me the space I need to process the events of the other night first. As far as they’re concerned, the main issue is me being on stage again. Not… _this_. Which truth be told, is the only issue as far as I’m concerned. Something I cannot begin to imagine opening up to Ayeon and Huiryong about. How would I even start that conversation? _So you know your ex-boyfriend Sungjin? Yeah…after my set at the club I kind of, sort of, kissed him because I really wanted to._ Not an option. That’s ridiculous.

“I find it helpful to start from the beginning.”

I can’t breathe all of a sudden. “Take me out for chicken and beer after tonight’s episode.”

“We get off at six in the morning.”

“Are we doing this or not?”

Jae slaps his hand down the console. “Done and done.”

Namjoon arrives right on cue, and just when I think I’ve come to a breakthrough, the worst rises from the ashes. Joonyoung appears behind Namjoon, lanky as ever with a new haircut but the same old smirk on his face and same guitar strapped over his shoulder. Like someone suddenly hit pause and rewind, memories flash in my mind, highlights of the best and the worst, a montage of the past two years set to a score of cruel silence. If Joonyoung looks surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. Meanwhile, I have been trying all night to disappear into my seat and not once has the universe given me a break.

Jae’s eyes dart over to my side before getting up to greet Joonyoung with his usual fanfare. Namjoon takes the seat opposite Jae, leaving Joonyoung across me. I keep my head down and let the rest of the introductions go over my head. Jae and Namjoon take over the interview with Joonyoung, making small talk and asking him questions about his music and how he feels about making it in the indie scene.

With _my_ song.

“So talk to us about _The Brightest Part of the Summer_ ,” Namjoon begins. “This song really brings out a bone-deep sense of nostalgia about a halcyon past. It really gets to me.”

I lift my eyes just as Joonyoung averts his gaze from me. I'm curious as well and I make no secret of it. But if he’s affected by my presence, he displays no guilt or _anything_. Joonyoung smiles as if working on this particular song brought about good memories—it did, of course—but also that it brought nothing but anger and confusion after what he did.

“We all have that one summer, you know?” Joonyoung says, “where everything is just perfect. With this song, it really gives you a sense of freedom from all your worries and a sense of carefree abandon. It makes you feel in love, and sometimes for a love that hasn’t even happened yet.”

I didn’t write the song _for_ Joonyoung, but I did write it with him in mind. I remember being filled with a sense of being away from my pathetic reality when I was with him. He always did make me feel like there’s another version of myself that’s just waiting for my life to be normal again.

“The song really does give off that vibe,” Namjoon answers, then turning to Jae he adds, “what do you think?”

Jae nods. “Yeah, there’s really this sense of familiarity in it, like, I don’t know about you guys but this song really feels like I know this person in a really intimate way—not like that kind of intimate I mean—just someone you’re really close to. Ah, it really gives a sense of longing too.”

How am I supposed to fully appreciate the words about my song when they’re in reference to someone else? Once more the gears in my head are shifting, something that’s been dislodged since the beginning of the semester. It feels like something has changed in me, but I’m not sure what. All I know is that this could have been me. Namjoon and Jae could have been talking about my song if only I let them hear it at all.

Joonyoung ends their first segment with an acoustic version of said song, and despite myself I close my eyes and listen, really listen, to his performance. I love his voice. I love the deep thrum from his throat. It always made me feel like we could go on adventures all night. I’d have done anything he wanted if he so much as hinted at it. But all I feel now is the lump in my throat and the heavy weight in my gut. My thoughts are going a thousand miles per second and if I’m not careful I might end up throwing up. Before I end up crying again—what is wrong with me, why can’t I just _not_ cry?— I push my seat back and steel my nerves to leave. But I’m stuck. My legs refuse to move. For the entire time Joonyoung stayed to talk about his music, I just sat there mute and out of it. My hands moved only according to muscle memory, I nodded at certain intervals to let them know I’m still around, but that’s it. Every time Joonyoung turns to look at me, I look away.

And then, finally, it’s all over.

“You were quiet tonight,” Namjoon says to me as we’re packing up to go home.

“When am I not,” I answer softly. Joonyoung is talking shop with Jae on the other side of the room, something about where to go to find good deals on quality second-hand guitars.

“Go get some sleep,” he says eventually. “I’ll see you Friday.”

The four of us leave the station together, awkwardly making our way down the stairs and out the lobby, and finally into the first of summer greeting us this morning. The summer semester begins today, too. Suddenly I feel even more sick to my stomach at the thought of my grades and my deficiencies coming back to haunt me.

Namjoon says goodbye first. Joonyoung hangs back as Jae takes a call. For the first time since I don’t even remember when anymore, Joonyoung and I are alone. 

“You look good,” Joonyoung says to me. It’s the first thing he’s said to me all night.

I don’t answer.

“Can we talk?”

“Talk about what?” I mutter in response.

“Everything? I really think we need to talk.”

What for? Because now I know about what he did to my song? Did he really not expect me to find out? What does he think I’ll do about it anyway? As far as I’m concerned, I just want to forget all this ever happened. I just want to get home, sleep, and maybe wake up after the summer is over.

“Please?” Then Joonyoung says my name almost as a plea and I’m tempted to give in, but only just.

“What for?” I ask, my voice steadier than I thought it would be. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Yeah, we do. Let me buy you breakfast?”

“That’s not necessary.” I refuse to look at him knowing he’ll have his eyes on me, that pout on his lips, and almost-grin on his mouth. What’s taking Jae so long? He’s almost down the corner, still talking into his phone. Who even calls anyone this early in the day? “I need to go.”

But just as step away, Joonyoung lightly curls his fingers into my hand. “Don’t go just yet.”

I try to think as far back as I can just to check if Joonyoung’s ever held my hand. If he’s ever really shown me any form of affection. If it was there at all and not just my imagination. Strangely, all that comes to mind is…not Joonyoung. I think of Sungjin and his gentle smiles. Warmth fills my insides, as if I turned myself inside out and basked beneath the sun. Gently, I tug my hand away from Joonyoung.

“Not like this,” I tell him. “Not right now.”

Jae calls for me, and when I turn to him he’s not alone. Sungjin’s with him. My heart starts beating so fast I can hardly breathe. But in a good way. As if I hadn’t been so confused just minutes before. I’m just so happy to see Sungjin, for a moment I forget myself.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Sungjin.

His eyes hesitate as he glances at Joonyoung, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” I squeak.

“Well,” he replies, “I didn’t come here to see Jae.”

Jae, who's standing behind Sungjin, shrugs as he mouths “He just called me. I have nothing to do with this.”

On one hand, I actually feel relieved to see Sungjin. I can’t deny the butterflies in my stomach even if I want to. On the other hand, this means we’re having the exact conversation I know we should have but don’t want to have. But also, I just want to get out of this situation as fast as humanly possible.

I grab Sungjin by the arm and lead him down the street. I’ll deal with Joonyoung and catch up with Jae later. Once we’ve crossed the corner, I reluctantly let go and make space between us. This leaves me feeling oddly empty. What is it about him that always feels so safe, even when I get the feeling he’s upset at me?

“Good morning to you, too,” he says.

I can’t gauge his intent behind his soft smile and gaze. “Hi.”

“Breakfast?” he chirps, leading the way to the coffee shop to our left.

I follow him into the shop. It’s just opened up for the day, and the girl behind the register smiles at us and greets us good morning. Sungjin and I each get an iced coffee and find a table at the back of the room. Now that we’re settled down, the morning and its implications all come rushing in. Sungjin is chuckling softly to himself, as if he’s expected this to happen. Or that there’s no potential disaster hanging over our heads. I’m just a mess.

“Will you relax?” he says, “it’s just me.”

See, that’s the problem. Sungjin has never just been Sungjin. Somehow, he’s always been more.

“Thanks for not running away,” he adds, tilting his head to the side. “I half-expected you to just walk out.”

I take a sip of my coffee. For…I don’t know. Strength. And to stall for a few more seconds. “About the other night…”

Sungjin’s eyes shine with a touch of barely restrained amusement. “You mean the night we kissed?”

I choke on my coffee and cough into my palms. Sungjin hands me a paper towel. Why am I such a spazz? “Yeah. That.”

“What about it?”

“It happened.”

He nods, satisfied that I acknowledge the fact.

“We should probably talk about that.”

“We should.”

“Don’t look so amused.”

“I can’t help it,” he laughs. “I'm sorry. Continue.”

“That’s it, actually.” That’s all I prepared for. That’s all I have to say about it. There are about a million more questions in my head, but none of the words to say them out loud. Why did I think this was a better choice than taking the third option?

“Okay,” he sighs, defeated. “Fine. I won’t force the issue. But there is something I came to tell you. It’s important.” His expression shifts into serious mode and I brace myself for the impact. “It’s about Professor Park’s class. You’re going to fail his class if you don’t submit your final project. You’ll probably get the notice this week, but I’m telling you now. What happened?”

I already got the email from Professor Park. He’s holding off my final grade with an incomplete status, and giving me time to complete the project over the summer. I don’t deserve this kind of special treatment, but I also know saying that out loud will get me in trouble.

“Nothing happened,” I tell him. “It’s just not for me. I’m better with derivative work than creating my own.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t be serious. Professor Park believes in your talent.”

“Then he was wrong.” Funny how easy it is to turn the mood around. Anything relating to songwriting, any of my classes, and reminders of Sungjin as my TA are all triggers for a persisting bad mood.

“Don’t waste my faith in you,” he says. “I believe in you.”

Based on what? I want to ask. “I’m so—“

“No,” he cuts me off before I finish my apology. “Stop apologising and start doing what you have to do. No more excuses.”

 _It’s not an excuse_ , I want to say. He won’t understand. _I_ don’t even understand what’s going on in my head. I lost my magic. I lost my song. It shouldn’t be that hard to accept and move on.

“I appreciate your concern—“

“Good. Because I’m going to make sure you get this done.”

“What?”

Sungjin straightens up in his seat. “I can forget about the other night if you want me to. If that’s going to help me help you I can do that. But you’re going to write those six songs and send them in before the summer ends. You’re not going to waste your music.”

If I had any more capacity for emotions, I’d get angry at this point but I’m just feeling tired all of a sudden and all I want to do is curl up in my bed and sleep all day and all night. I just want this to be over with.

“Fine,” I say. “Whatever.” Maybe this way he’ll understand that I’m all out. Maybe he’ll give up when he sees that I just can’t do it anymore. Maybe this way, we can finally part ways and all this be over. I look him in the eye.

A nebulous anxiety swirls inside my gut.


	22. Chapter 22

Sungjin wasn't kidding when he said he’d help me get this EP done. His phone call wakes me up first thing in the morning and, for a moment after I take the call, I don’t understand what’s going on until the words make sense and it dawns on me that this is real. Sungjin is set on proving a point and I’m set on proving him wrong.

“In twenty minutes, I’ll be downstairs waiting for you,” he says. How is anyone this happy in the morning?

“What are you talking about?” I check the time on my phone. It’s not even eight a.m. From outside the my bedroom, I hear Ayeon and Huiryong just about to leave for work. If I get up now, they’ll suspect something weird because there is no reason for me to be up before they’ve left the apartment.

“I said I’ll help you write your songs, remember?”

“I remember. How is this helping?”

He sighs, but I can _hear_ him smiling through the phone. “We’re going to look for inspiration.”

“At eight in the morning?”

“It’s the best time of the day.”

I roll my eyes at the ceiling. “No, the best time of the day is after ten in the evening and after coffee. What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me_? What’s wrong with you? Are you an owl? Hurry and get up it’s a beautiful day. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

Sungjin wasn’t kidding about the fifteen minutes. I’m barely into my jeans when he calls again to say he’s already sitting out on the steps. Not that I had difficulty choosing something to wear because this is _so not_ a date. It’s just that I haven’t organized in my closet in a while and with the weather being what it is, hunting for something appropriate so I don’t freeze as soon as the sun is down became a little challenging. Also, I need to look human, at least. Not some anthropomorphic personification of someone’s favorite root crop.

“Do you know what they say about poking a sleeping bear?” I ask as soon as I walk out the main door and Sungjin looks up at me.

He gets up and dusts off his shorts. “Are you a bear?”

“Yes,” I shoot back, annoyed because now I’m not really sure what I’m feeling. “Yes, I am. And the thing they say about poking sleeping bears is _don’t._ ”

“So, noted.”

“Where are we going?”

“I told you,” Sungjin says, leading the way down the street. “We’re going to look for inspiration.”

“And how do you propose we go looking for inspiration?” Is there an advertisement for this I haven’t been aware of? Is Inspiration really just a Google search away and I’ve been in the dark all this time? Has it, all this time, been something you can order of a menu somewhere? 

“We’re going to take a walk.”

“I hate walking,” I mutter after him.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he says to me from over his shoulder. “Look, I know it’s me you don’t want to be around. So the easiest way to get rid of me is to finish this project. After this, I promise you I’ll leave you alone.”

That’s not necessary, I want to say. But he’s right about wanting to avoid him. If only to avoid my confused feelings for him.

“Because, you know,” he continues. “If you fail this class, you’re just gonna have to take it again. And you really don’t want to be my student again, do you?”

“I get it,” I mumble. “You’ve made your point. Let’s get this done.”

Sungjin’s first stop is an old record store that sells vinyl LPs and second-hand acoustic and electric guitars. The place looks like it never left the eighties, with posters of Queen, Guns N’ Roses, Scorpions, and Deep Purple on one wall. Electric guitars cover the other wall, as it does most of the floor plan. Everywhere you look it’s rows upon rows of guitars and boxes of LPs stacked at the center aisle. Sungjin is about dying in rapture.

“How does this help, exactly?” I ask.

“I bought my first guitar here,” he says with a nostalgic smile. “And my first record. Sometimes I just come here to enjoy the view.”

“Of all the things you can’t have?”

He tuts at me. “So negative. Sometimes looking is enough. Just knowing something exists should be good enough. It makes me happy. What makes you happy?”

“Sleep,” I tell him. Not ironically. “I like sleep. I like it when people don’t wake me up to drag me into a totally unnecessary walking tour around the city.”

“I know snark is your best defense mechanism, so I’m gonna let that slide.”

Guilt slides into my consciousness. “I'm sorry.”

“What was that?” he says with a smile. “I didn’t hear you.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?” He’s still smiling, but there’s more depth in what he’s saying.

It hits me all at once, this sick feeling in my stomach. It’s like all my worst days coming back to haunt me, nights I spend staring at the ceiling because closing my eyes played a endless loop of all the times I failed and/or embarrassed myself. Now showing is all the times I’ve been a jerk to the people who care about me. People who’ve gone out of their way to make sure I was okay. The sick feeling rises to my throat and heat floods my eyes.

I’m a terrible person.

This is why I avoid all human contact. Sungjin doesn’t deserve this negativity from me. No one deserves this kind of treatment—

“—you’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“What?” I focus on the tip of Sungjin’s nose to feign eye contact. “Sorry.”

“I said you’re spacing out. Do you need to step outside for a moment? Should I have scheduled breakfast first?”

I take in each sentence one at a time. “Breakfast. Yes, please.”

I wasn’t hungry when I said so, but now that we’re sitting across each other with food between us I’m beginning to feel the need for sustenance. “I really am sorry,” I tell him.

“I know you are. It’s okay.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“You’re going down another negative spiral. Snap out of it. I know you’d rather avoid that confront, but I’m not the only one worried about you.”

If only it were that easy. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m really trying very hard not to. But you’re not okay and you’re not talking about it. I don’t know how to help you if you don’t let me.”

My instinct is to run away. Tell him I’m fine, get this over with and leave him before I get worse. But something about the way Sungjin is trying so hard is making me want to try. For myself. So I can be a better person for all the people who are here for me. I have to try. Even I get tired of my own whining. 

“Can we start over?” I ask.

Sungjin nods.

“I didn’t peg you as the vintage rock type of guy,” I say a while later as we’re walking towards Sungjin’s next destination. We spent breakfast in silence, mostly comfortable silence.

“What type of guy did you think I was?” he asks, brows taking a life of their own.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Pop. Ballads.”

“I’m a little offended you think that.” He rolls his shoulders. “Why would you think that? You’ve seen the band. I can be more than just the one thing.”

Because he doesn’t share a look as Jae. Because even though he sings for a indie rock band, it doesn’t mean it’s the kind of music he’d play. Because the truth is I know next to nothing about him. “Yeah, but…I don’t know.”

I haven’t even given any thought about the band because thinking about it makes my head hurt. There’s just too much of Sungjin and his voice and I’m overwhelmed by all this sensory  overload of information.

“I guess I just don’t really know that much about you,” I say eventually. It’s the truth. That’s all there is to it.

“Well,” he starts, turning the corner and into an alley going uphill. “What do you want to know?”

That’s a trick question. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he answers ambiguously. “You’ll like it there.”

 _There_ is a practice studio. It’s a small building that doesn’t look like it’s meant to hold commercial space, much less a recording studio. Despite the three levels of security Sungjin had to go through— electric locks and pass codes— the best word I can come up to describe it is a garage. A warehouse. A storage area for junk no one has any use for but doesn’t know how to get rid of. I get the feeling Jae picked out this place exactly for that reason.

The band kit is a mishmash of secondhand equipment, three mix-and-match drum kits, stands for at least two sets of synthesizers with room for MIDI consoles and a laptop, eight guitar stands competing for space with mic stands, and monster amplifiers where they can be squeezed in between instruments. I recognize some of the instruments: a red and white precision bass, a red Telecaster, the keyboards. This is Day6’s practice studio. Sungjin’s right. I love it here.

“Sorry,” he says kicking a tangle of wires aside. “I haven’t cleaned up as much as I want to.”

“Hey, all I’m saying is if this place were spotless you can’t blame me for thinking this is where you murder me.”

“That’s fair. Come on.”

Sungjin leads me to the loft where they’ve piled even more _stuff_ : sofas, beanbags, a conference desk, and various stools and office chairs. I’m almost afraid to ask where they got all these. There’s a charm to it, I’m sure. But one thing does stand out, and that’s the live room they’ve set up inside a sound-proof transparent isolation box. The control console isn’t like the others. It’s new. It’s also a mess. A very familiar mess. The Jae and Brian kind of organized mess.

“How did you even find this place?”

“Jae knows someone and that someone let us use this space.”

How mysterious. “That’s it? This is…well this can’t be cheap.”

“We’re not really paying for anything. It’s not something we can divulge yet, but you’ll be the first to know when we get the green light.”

A secret benefactor? “I’m honored.”

“Well, you’re the common denominator. We all know you.” He shakes his head at the thought. Like me, he’s still just as bothered by this coincidence. Walking to the guitar cabinet, Sungjin retrieves his acoustic guitar Atom. “Ready?”

I frown. “You should’ve told me to bring my laptop.”

“I didn’t tell you for a reason.” He gestures at the synthesizers inside the live room. “Let’s go.”

 _You don’t have to do this_ , I want to say. But… _I_ _want_ _to_. I like being with Sungjin like this. It’s almost enough for me to forget who I am. Like I’m not some form of crazy. Like there isn’t a list of problems I need to deal with.

I drag a stool toward the synthesizers. “So this is your plan?”

“It’s the best I can come up with,” he answers with a smile. “We don’t have to get anything done today. We could just jam to your favorite songs. Or mine.”

I bite back a smile. “This is totally a program in your music therapy lab, isn’t it?”

“One,” he shoots back, holding up a finger, “we’re not in the lab. Two, we’re just friends with a guitar and keyboards playing around. Three, no hidden agenda anywhere.”

I let myself laugh. “Okay. If you say so.”

At the back of my mind, however, lingers the words _friends._ This is _not_ a date. This is just…whatever it is. I feel so cheated. So… _deprived_.

Sungjin tunes his guitar while I follow the wires and plug the synths in. I don’t envy whoever has to play synths in any band. Too much work setting up and packing up to go. This is why I stick to MIDI and my computer. Unless I have to bring my own mixer. Then it’s pretty much the same work.

Sitting on an amp, Sungjin strums to open strings. “So what’s your favorite song?”

“What’s yours?”

He levels me with a look.

“I don’t have just _one_ favorite song,” I explain. “Do _you_ have just _one_ favorite song?”

“Good point.”

He starts strumming to some chords and I follow and catch up, filling in some gaps and adding my own sequences. Sungjin strings words together, forming a fun light melody from out of nowhere.

 

_I know you don’t want to talk about it_

_or maybe it’s me you don’t want to talk to_

_so maybe you can sing a song instead_

_Come to think of it I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing before_

 

“What, why’d you stop playing?” Sungjin is still strumming. Then he repeats his question _in song_.

“What are you doing?”

 

_I’m singing a song especially for you_

_this only works if you start singing too_

_don’t leave me hanging here rhyming like a fool_

_I know you can do better so sing along wait I lost my rhyme_

 

I can’t play when my eyes are tearing up from laughing too hard. I can’t even remember the last time I laughed this much. It feels…so new. And the way Sungjin is smiling at me…it feels like the first time all over again. Will I let myself go too much? Knowing what’s at risk?

“What are you thinking?” he asks, eyes on me.

“You’re not afraid to be you at all, are you?”

He shrugs. “Well, what other choice do I have? I can only be me.”

My fingers find their way across the keys. I haven’t sung out loud in so long, my voice comes out unstable at first, but it’s just as I remember it. The irony is that my voice is as dulcet as how cold I appear to be. I never liked hearing my own voice because it sounds too sweet for me, but what else can I do?

 

_Do you ever feel the need to be alone_

_Lost on the road, no signs to lead you home_

_When the world outside is just too loud_

_Cover your ears because the whispers follow you around_

 

Sungjin takes over when my voice breaks. I’ve never been this honest with anyone before, not even with Jae and he knows my darkest day. Not with my roommates who’ve been there for me no matter what. Letting these thoughts out of my head is scraping me raw inside.

 

_When the city sleeps at night_

_I know you don’t think anyone hears you cry_

_but I hear you loud I hear you fight_

_so when the walls are caving in, shout out loud_

 

Audibly, something changes in the air and in the way Sungjin’s gaze falls on me. Even when I feel exposed, I feel safe. I know I’m safe. But something’s changed and I’m not sure what it is. Sungjin breaks eye contact first, runs his fingers through his hair then sets his guitar down on the stand. He lifts himself from the chair and shakes his head.

“I think we’ve made progress today.”

I follow him toward the control panel. “What’s going on?”

Shoulders wound tight, he turns his face away from me. “Nothing. This is good. I think we’ve done enough today, don’t you think?”

“Sungjin, what’s really going on?” My heart is beating so fast and I’m not entirely sure why.

He takes a deep shuddering breath. “I’m really trying so hard right now.”

I hold back the urge to touch his arm. “Was I really that terrible?”

He laughs bitterly to himself. “No…you…” He turns his head just enough to look at my face. “You’re just very confusing. And I’m trying really hard not to be so confused.”

Suddenly, I’m made aware of how alone we are in the building. Of how close we’re standing next to each other. How we’re both fooling ourselves and each other that there’s isn’t more here. I lift my gaze to meet his eyes. The way he’s looking at me, like he’s reading off the notes to his favorite song, so soft yet at the same time so intense.

I brave a step closer and he tilts his head just so.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “Don’t make this hard for the both of us.”

There’s a voice in my head telling me I should step back before I regret this decision. I haven’t quite overanalysed this scenario the way I know Sungjin already has. Haven’t we decided to keep whatever this is at a distance? No, that’s not right. Sungjin decided that. Not me.

“We haven’t talked about the other night,” I begin, “when I kissed you.”

He swallows. “I thought we acknowledged that it happened and that we should move past it.”

“I think only you decided that. I haven’t figured out what to do about it yet.”

His voice drops to just above a whisper. “How’s that going for you?”

Do I risk it all? “I’m thinking that maybe we’ll never know if we don’t try.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“You keep asking me that, if I’m sure about anything. I am capable of making my own decisions, you know…”

“I know that,” he says, maybe rougher than he intends if the uncertainty in his eyes is any indication. “I just need to be sure because I’m not the kind of guy who does anything half-hearted.”

Maybe it’s about time I give it my all, too. I push forward as Sungjin leans in. Unlike the kiss in his office and at the club, this one neither hesitant nor impatient. This one is unhurried and focused. His one arm curves around my waist to pull me closer while his other hand gently cups my face. Both my hands are tangled in his shirt, but there is no urgency here. Only the moment.

I vanish into his kiss hearing the music I thought I lost.


	23. Chapter 23

Sungjin and I have been meeting at Studio J for the better part of the week. Usually in the mornings when the rest of Day6 are still sleeping and/or at their part-time jobs. Suffice it to say, we haven’t made much progress in terms of songwriting. We also haven’t told anyone about the recent development between us. Especially not Jae. Or Huiryong. Because how again?

But we’re… _something_. Something that could be good. I can tell Sungjin wants to talk it out first, he’s always pausing in the middle of something, turning to me with that look on his face but eventually thinking against it and keeping quiet. Maybe I’ll bring it up myself. Just not right now.

“What would _you_ write about?” I ask.

Sungjin is laying on the carpeted floor, his guitar on top of him. “Why are you asking me? It’s your song.”

I’m on the synths with my laptop plugged next to me. “Because you said you’d help me write a song, and that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Just write something. It doesn’t have to be perfect. You can’t perfect something that doesn’t exist.”

“See that’s the thing. Every time I attempt to write something, I just…get stuck.”

“No, you’re doing great,” he says, “you have to remember to be kind to yourself. Do that melody again, it sounds really good.”

For the past two days, I’ve been playing around a sketch, a melody not like what I usually write. It’s a lot less dancey. With more room for…feelings, I guess. I’m good with the music, but the words? They take more from me. Every word that I write feels like I bleed on the page. Here’s my soul, do with it what you will. Crush it, why don’t you?

“What’s got you stuck?”

“Like you’ve never gotten stuck before,” I shoot back, slowly getting frustrated at myself. I can tell as much, that it’s not really him or the work I’m annoyed at. It’s the shadow Joonyoung has left overhead. Made me feel like a damp firework.

“Well, if all else fails, love is always a universal theme. Write about love.”

“You think that people would have had enough of silly love songs…”

Sungjin strums and sings to the rest of the song though I didn’t sing the line. “But I look around me and I see it isn’t so.”

“Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.”

“And what’s wrong with that, I’d like to know.”

My eyes close instinctively as I hear him smiling through his singing, more so as he hums the rest of the lyrics and the melody of the Paul McCartney song I shouldn’t even be surprised he knows. Even if he hadn’t brought me to his little happy place, the fact that he hangs out with Jae would introduce him to songs beyond our time.

I take a deep breath. “The last time I wrote a full love song from the heart it got stolen from me and now this someone’s is claiming the song as his.”

Silence covers us like a suffocating cloud of smoke. I’ve never told anybody else about Joonyoung. Never imagined I ever would need to. My roommates were enough. Adding Jae to that was one too many. Sungjin shuffles uncomfortably on the floor, takes a sharp inhale of breath then lets it out slowly.

“That’s one of the things he did,” I continue, “but it’s the worst one. It actually hurts more than when I saw him kissing some other girl when I thought we had something. Now that I think about it, he could have been kissing other girls without me knowing about it but I guess I shouldn’t have assumed otherwise but you know…I’ll take the blame for that. It feels ridiculous because I always felt like I could handle more? But I guess I’ve been carrying so much sadness and just when I thought I could lean on him that’s when he does the one thing that causes it all to crash down. Did you know I used to DJ at clubs?”

“I know you did,” he answers softly, with just a touch of restrained anger. 

“You do?”

“You were the highlight in last year’s university summer festival. And then you just disappeared.”

“I did. Wait…what else do you know?”

“Just that you’re Jae’s friend and he talks about you a lot. Small stuff, like how you’re probably the unfunniest person he knows and that you have the best taste in music and you’re a really good friend when you’re not stuck inside your head.”

The sound that comes out of my mouth is a strangled squeak. I’m sure this will all make sense in the future, but right now my life is flashing before my eyes. I trust Jae enough not to tell anyone about the details of my life not meant to be shared, but it’s always the little things that are far more telling. I’m more embarrassed than anything else.

“Are you still there?” he asks.

I choke out a “Yes.”

“Talk to me, please. Don’t leave me out when you go into your head like that.”

“I just didn’t think Jae would say something like that about me.”

“You need to give yourself more credit. You’re a nice person when you’re not in a bad mood.”

And I’ve been in a terrible mood for so long. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Oh, trust me. It wasn’t easy. You’re lucky I trust Jae when it comes to you.”

“I don’t know how to feel about you two having conversations about me.” Partly because Jae has a tendency toward hyperbole and partly because this means Jae has Sungjin’s version of…whatever we are and I haven’t given my side of the story yet.

“Well, you know Jae. I think that’s enough context.”

I’m tempted to join him on the floor and just feel his warmth around me, but over the past couple of days I noticed something about him that I hadn’t before. Sungjin is not a fan of skinship. I guess I should’ve known as this was one thing Huiryong always ranted about back when they were dating. She’d want to hold his hand and cuddle in the cinema but Sungjin would be awkward and uncomfortable. I haven't done anything apart from small, casual touches but when I do it always stops him from what he’s doing. There have been exceptions, but that’s what they are. Exceptions rather than the rule.

Raucous laughter bursts from downstairs— familiar laughter filling the room in a carefree soundtrack to summer. Wonpil is whining about something, repeatedly mentioning Jae’s name as Brian laughs in the background. No doubt Dowoon is there, too. Jae, though, Jae is the main vocal in the chorus of crazy that walked in on our moment.

“What are they doing here?” I ask.

Sungjin lifts himself up by his elbows and his lips curl into a sneer. “I didn’t invite them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A part of me thinks I should feel something more than mild annoyance, but that’s all I have because another part of me is excited to see them again. I may not be ready for the conversation to follow, but these guys are my friends, too. They were my friends far before this Thing with Sungjin was even a Thing.

But…maybe not like this.

I count the seconds as footsteps draw nearer.

Jae appears from the landing first, gasps exaggeratedly, and clutches his chest. His eyes bounce between Sungjin and me, narrowing suspiciously. “What is going on here. Explain yourselves.”

Wonpil putters into the loft. “So is this what you’ve been up to all week? Is this why you’ve been leaving early and not making us breakfast?”

Sungjin sighs. “I’ve never made you breakfast.”

“You should,” Wonpil answers dismissively, “but what are you guys doing here?”

Brian finds a spot with Dowoon on one of the couches. He’s not saying anything _yet_ but his feline eyes say it all. He is far too amused than he should be and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of all the guys in this band, it’s Brian that’s the dark horse. He’s probably the most dangerous one, too. If there’s someone who’d see through me and be both efficient and effective, it would be him. Bad _bad_ idea spending all those three am sessions with him. Note to self: avoid Brian.

“I have a pending class project and Sungjin is helping,” I say, dodging all the doubtful looks my way.

“What kind of help?” Wonpil asks. It’s innocent enough, but the way Jae’s brows quirk makes me want to shove my head underground.

“Songwriting.”

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Wonpil whines, “I would’ve helped you.”

“That’s really not the issue here,” Jae interrupts. “Kitty Kat, _my_ Kitty Kat, you, me, downstairs please. Nobody follow us!”

Brian follows us downstairs and behind a low wall of amps.

“What are you doing here?” Jae asks him.

Brian makes a face. “I’m just as invested in this narrative as you are.”

Meanwhile, all I can think of right now is that Sungjin is trapped with Wonpil upstairs.

"I believe there is something you want to share with the class,” Jae says, crossing his arms and focusing his best laser eyes on me. If he means to look imposing…it’s not really working.

“Not really, no.”

Brian sits down on an amp and chuckles to himself. “Have it your way, then. We’ll just assume the worst.”

“Or the best,” Jae adds, “Your pick.”

“It is at the moment undefined.” The admission leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. What am I supposed to say? Are we dating if we haven’t technically gone on _a_ date? Who writes the conventions to these things anyway?

“But there is a something?” Jae presses, “is there or is there not a something?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Jae?” I ask, wary now of the tone we’re taking. Not that Jae’s opinion mattered so much that I will disregard my personal feelings on the matter, though I will take into account what he has to say. I trust Jae. 

“It is what I wanted and it’s awesome, but as Brian and I discussed—“

“You and Brian did what—“

Brian raises his palms in defense, “But now we’re talking to you about it—“

“As I was saying,” Jae interrupts, “the point is we do not appreciate you doing the sneaky behind our backs. This is a breach of the very foundation of trust and if we do not have trust, how are we going to continue being in each other’s lives like this?”

“What he means is that you two don’t have to hide whatever from us. Especially not now that we know we all know each other,” Brian says. “There’s just no point to it anymore. We’re all going to talk about each other, might as well do it out in the open.”

“We’re not hiding,” I mutter, “It’s not… _that_. There is no sneaking around.”

Jae levels me with a look.

“There is _some_ of this but this is work. Because of…stuff. I need to write a couple of songs and he’s helping me out, okay? That’s what this is.”

“That I believe.”

Thank you, Brian.

Then Brian stands up, lays a hand over my head, and leads me back upstairs. “Good. Now that’s all settled, let’s go get lunch.”

 

***

 

Later that evening, and just before our radio shift, I take Jae out to dinner. I owe him as much. We’re halfway through his favorite pizza when I finally bring up the issue.

“I didn’t mean to not tell you. I just didn’t know what to say so I held it off.”

“I got that,” he says, “I just wish sometimes you rely on us the way you’re always there for us.”

This reminds me of a conversation I had with Ayeon and Huiryong, the one where The Roommate Code of Conduct means we get to equally share each other’s emotional baggage. No conditionals. We will be there for each other because who else will be there but each other? 

“I haven’t told my roommates yet. Did you know Huiryong and Sungjin used to go out?”

Jae nods. “Yeah, that’s…been brought up. Awkward. Speaking of awkward…”

“Joonyoung?”

“Are you okay?”

I nod. “I think I am. He wanted to talk to me, I said no.”

“That’s fair. He shouldn’t have shown up anyway. Even if Namjoon didn’t know about him, Joonyoung should have known better than show up when he’d know you’d be around.”

“I kind of think that’s why he showed up in the first place.” But why, though? He must have known they’d be talking about _my_ song. Was that it? Was that supposed to be him explaining himself? As if what he did is something he could so easily ask forgiveness for.

Joonyoung made me feel so used and _disposable_.

And now that’s out in the open, I’m terrified that he’s messed me up for Sungjin. That I’ve become irreparably broken and the moment Sungjin realizes this, it’s over. That maybe the reason why it’s easier avoiding people is because rejection hurts like the Universe decided to implode inside your body. Or worse. Imagine your true heart’s desire just beyond your reach, but no matter what you do you can never touch it. You can never have it. And the reason you can’t have it is because your insides are just too messy, too complicated, too much for anyone to ever truly want and love.

The irony is that people who are afraid of ending up alone usually, and inevitably, do.

“The Brightest Part of the Summer,” I begin.

“What about it?”

“I wrote that song.”

Jae exhales a particularly colorful variation of an expletive. “That explains a lot of things. What a jerk.”

I shrug. “I can always write another song.”

“Yeah, but no one should be taking credit for what’s not theirs.”

“I just want to let it go and forget about it. Move on.”

“Because…?”

“Because it’s what I should’ve been doing since the beginning of the year?”

“Do it for you,” he says. “You’re doing it for you, right?”

“Yep. I have to.” Because so many people have not given up on me, perhaps it about time I don’t give up on me. My heart is in the right place, at least for now it feels that way.


	24. Chapter 24

I wake up to Ayeon bouncing on my bed.

“Get up!” she squeals. “Hurry up!”

I open one eye. “What time is it?”

“It’s time to get up! Come on!”

I hear a shuffle of movement and I suspect Ayeon is pulling out my overnight bag from under my bed. She drops it on top of my blanket with a flop, and then I hear the drawers slide open.

“I’m not beyond grabbing the first armful of clothes on top of your pile and dumping it all inside your bag. If you end up with mismatched clothes or missing, you know, important items of clothing for decency, that’s on you.”

I roll over and take the bag from her. “What is happening?”

Ayeon is absolutely beaming. “Are you serious? We’re going to the beach! For the music festival! Remember?”

Vaguely, the memory of a beach music festival being talked about worms into my consciousness. This is what I get for not paying attention when I should. “That’s today?”

“You’ve been working so hard on your music you don’t even know what day it is anymore, do you?”

I roll over and grab a bunch of clothes from my closet then toss a couple of beach appropriate attire together with the rest of my essentials into my bag. I have been busier than I’ve ever been in my life, but this time it’s the productive type. Sungjin was a terror. _Is_ a terror when he wants to be. He made me write at least one song per day for the past ten days until we had enough for my project with room to reject a few more.

The good side was out of the fifteen or so songs I’ve written, there were six that stood out. One last round of mixing and mastering and my final project is good to go. I’ve never felt _like this_ in a long while. A really long while.

“Is it Friday? Already?” I ask.

“You poor overworked thing,” Ayeon soothed. “You really are in need of a break.”

I check the time on my phone. It’s only been Friday for a couple of hours, and less than that since I went to bed. Outside, it’s still too dark to see anything, too dark to be doing anything but amble back home after classes or work or whatever. It is both too early and too late for anything. Yet here we are twenty minutes later, sitting out on the curb waiting for our ride to arrive. I try not to let my excitement show. Sungjin and the rest of DAY6 are coming; they managed to get a performance slot and it will their first festival as a band. The After School Sweg crew will be there too. Eric assigned us to cover the event, and Jae decided to make it his entry to the world of vlogging. It doesn’t escape me that Huiryong won’t be coming with us on the way there, that she’s made plans to meet us there instead. Ayeon tells me not to think about it, but I still do. It’s not as if it isn’t obvious why. It’s not as if this isn’t one of those thoughts forever lurking at the back of my mind.

Despite the odd sense of dread swirling in my gut, I’m just content to be feeling more like myself again.

DAY6 arrives in two vehicles: Sungjin driving the van with all their instruments and Jae in the car for the rest of them who won’t fit into the van. I flashback to the night of Ayeon’s party, at how awkward certain people were with each other, and internally shudder at the thought of having to spend six hours in an enclosed space in that same situation. I’m talking about Ayeon and Brian. I don’t know what happened between them, and I’m not the type to ask if I’m not entitled to that information. At least Huiryong isn’t here? At least we can make sure Ayeon and Brian won’t be in the same breathing space?

But just as I’m about to bring it up, Brian comes up to Ayeon with a big smile on his face and offers to carry her things for her. Ayeon responds with an even bigger smile and shyly tucks her hair behind her ear. Then they’re off to put Ayeon’s things away, talking to each other shoulder to shoulder and in low whispers.

That's good news, I guess?

Sungjin just shrugs when I turn to him, then smiles as if there’s a secret between us. The butterflies in my stomach agree, in a manner of speaking. I’m not sure what the specifics of this secret are as we haven’t had that conversation yet. Not that I’ve been avoiding it, though I am thankful for not having to stress over it at this time. I know Sungjin wants to talk about it. I know Jae wants to know all about it. I know I can’t keep putting it off either.

But at the moment, all I want is to fall face-first into his chest and bury my nose into his fluffy grey sweater. I just want to breathe him in and feel him warm around me. I want to run my fingers through his hair and—

“Ready?” Sungjin asks.

For what? I want to ask. Instead, I nod and haul my bag over my shoulder.

Wonpil sticks his head out of the backseat window. “You can sit with me,” he beams.

I turn to Sungjin, looking for a cue for how to deal with this. He just looks annoyed, like he’s about to roll his eyes but is deciding against the effort it would take.

Dowoon rolls down the passenger side window. “I already called shotgun,” he says, grinning at us.

“No, you didn’t!” Wonpil counters, “I did first. You just got there before I did.”

Of course, that’s when Jae calls out to me. From the driver’s seat window. “Kitty Kat, my Kitty Kat. I have our script, or something like it.” He waves the sheathe of papers in the air. “We gotta work on our spiels if we’re gonna be winning awards for this episode of After School Sweg.”

We’re not entering any competition, neither am I under the illusion our show will even catch the attention of any award-giving body. But I’ve never been one to deny Jae the simple joys of giving into our delusions of social relevance. I may not always like it, and I may not always enjoy it, but whatever Jae wants to do, I will never be the person to discourage him from doing so. Even if it means looking like a fool. In public. If it makes him happy, I will sacrifice my pride. After all he’s done for me, pride is such a small price to pay.

I back away apologetically from Sungjin, and he just sighs as he resigns himself to our fate. It would have been nice to go on a road trip with him, nicer still if it were just the two of us. When we were planning this trip, he sounded so excited while he was preparing the spreadsheet for time tables, budget, supplies, and logistics. Even though it was the first time I fully understood what Jae means when he says Sungjin gets really intense, nothing about that moment could have endeared him to me any less. Who knew spreadsheets could make someone this happy?

And though we never talked about it out loud, I had always assumed we’d go together. In the same space at the same time. For a change, it would be nice to just do nothing with him. But all the what-ifs, doused with the finesse of a new-born chick. Even now, this still isn’t the universe where I’m not the punchline of some joke. I’m still not laughing, see?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jae says as soon as I take my seat next to him. “Don’t you dare give me that face. You’re on car DJ duty, being co-pilot and everything.”

“What face?” I mutter petulantly. I glance at Ayeon and Brian from the rearview mirror. At least some of us are getting something good out of this arrangement. I plug in my phone and  click on the playlist I curated just for today. It's a mix of songs designed to keep your energy up throughout the entire ride, made for ambience and just the right mix of nostalgia and anticipation.

“ _That_ face.” Jae pulls out of the driveway and follows Sungjin’s lead. “The one you’re giving me right now. You look like I stole your candy.”

“You’re making me work when I’ve barely had time to sleep.”

Sungjin is a morning person. I’m a night owl. My sleep schedule has always been erratic,  I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Either too much of it or none at all. I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever had a healthy in between. These last couple of weeks just took my circadian rhythm to a whole new level. Between studio sessions with Sungjin in the day and After School Sweg with Jae at nights, my body is about to give up on deciding on a pattern. Unless _wrecked_ can be considered a pattern. Because that’s precisely what I am. A wreck. I’m a disaster.

Jae scoffs. “Sure. _That’_ s what you’re upset about. I believe you. Totally.”

This time, I give him _a_ look.

“Now, don’t give me that,” he whines. “I know you’d rather cuddle up with Bob than share third-wheeling responsibilities with me but sadly you’re figurative wagon is hitched to mine.”

The couple behind us don’t even react to that.

“I’m not even going to acknowledge you said that,” I say. Besides, _cuddling_ might not even be on the table. I’m not even sure what _is_ on that table anymore. At this point, I’ll be happy just knowing what that figurative table even means.

“Look, if your boyfriend weren’t such a Type A Capricorn he'd let me drive the van and you two could share this subpar vehicle with the lovey-dovey couple over there, but no. Of course he doesn’t trust me. _Me_.”

What I want to say is: Yes. Sungjin is such a Type A Capricorn it’s driving me crazy, you warned me about this.

Also: You can’t blame Sungjin for not trusting you. Really, you should know this by now. He doesn’t trust _anyone_. With _anything_.

Furthermore: You might want to say that louder because I don’t think that lovey-dovey couple over there can hear you.

And last but not the least: Sungjin isn’t my boyfriend. Not officially.

But, sadly, all that comes out of my mouth is, “I don’t…That’s not…He’s not…” followed by some gurgling sound that’s not even made up of either vowels or consonants.

“He’s not what?” Jae asks.

I don’t answer.

“If he’s not your boyfriend, what is he?”

“We…haven’t had that conversation.” No point being conscious of the people in the back. They’d find out anyway. Might as well be out with it.

“I’m gonna have words with Park Sungjin,” Jae snaps, “Strongly-worded words. How have you not defined the relationship?”

“Calm down.” I’m surprised at how steady my voice is. “Let’s not rush into things. Besides, this was your idea wasn’t it? This _is_ what you wanted, right?”

Jae doesn’t answer for the full duration of a verse and a chorus. “I know.”

“Then why are you acting like you don’t actually want this? After going through all that trouble of hard selling him, like, all the time?” 

“I was just teasing you! How was I supposed to know you knew each other in real life. Like, actually knew each other. Like he’s your TA knew each other. You’ve known Wonpil forever and I never knew. You’ve been hanging out with Brian! And Dowoon. And none of us knew until Sungjin brought you home after Papa Tuan’s party. It’s like I don’t even know anything anymore.”

“You set him up on that blind-date,” I say. “Made it look like the powers of universe conspired to make our meeting look like destiny. You said he believed in that kind of thing.”

“What blind date?”

Record scratch moment. “Remember my big radio comeback? On the first day of the semester. I met Sungjin after our shift. He said his friend set him up on a blind date. Thought it was me. Mixed up eight a.m. and p.m. That’s you, right? _You_ did that.”

Jae looked confused. More than usual. “ _I_ didn’t set him up on a date.”

What?

Could it have been Wonpil? He mentioned wanting to introduce me to his roommate too, and I doubt he meant to set me up with Jae or Brian. Could he have? No, the plan was too contrived for it to have been Wonpil. But then again, Wonpil could have layers I haven’t peeled back yet.

“That was me,” Brian chimes in. “Actually, that was me. I mixed up the a.m and the p.m. I was jet lagged. I set him up with my lab partner from the previous semester. I don’t know why he thought it was you.”

Because I was sitting there looking pathetic, maybe?

I twist in my seat, only held in place by the seatbelt. “Brian, seriously. What?”

He shrugs. “He really needed a distraction. If you’d seen him after breaking up with—“ Ayeon nudges him in the ribs. “—after that one breakup you’d think he was pathetic too. And he was cleaning the apartment every day. Every. Frickin. Day. It was hell on Earth. If, you know, hell’s floors sparkled your reflection back at you and smelled like antibacterial lemons. How was I supposed to know he’d run into you.”

He couldn’t have. No one could have predicted that. Everything that happened thus far had run a course independent of any of our common friends. Yet everything made more sense now that our universes had converged. Something both Brian and Jae said leaves a bitter taste in my tongue and void in my stomach.

“Well,” I say, testing out the words in my mouth. “He got his distraction. And you got your normalcy back.”

“Not that you’re a distraction!” Brian rushes to defend. “Of course, not.”

“I think what these geniuses are trying to say is that it all worked out good in the end, right?” Ayeon supplies. “Coincidence, destiny, whatever it is and whatever you want to call it, does it really matter? I mean, you like him anyway. And, gosh, whoever says he doesn’t like you must be dense. He’s not exactly subtle, you know.”

“Yeah,” Brian says, “That. Exactly that. Are you having doubts?”

I shake my head. “Doubts? What for? There isn’t a thing yet, you know. Not really.”

“Not _yet_ ,” Ayeon corrects. “You’ll be fine.”

But Ayeon and Brian are both blinded by this pink haze over their eyes. Something doesn’t sit right with me, abstractions floating just beneath my lids. Jae is quiet, uncharacteristically so. He’s focused on the road ahead. Maybe too focused. Another song runs its playtime, then another, and another, until I fall asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

“Are you okay?” Sungjin asks.

“People really need to stop asking me that question,” I answer, looking away from Sungjin and out to the wide expanse of beachfront.

Despite my earlier worries, I can feel it. Something good is about to happen. I feel it in the way this neon summer wraps around me. In the wink then steady gaze of the ocean before me. This is home to me, after all. This. Restless youth and boundless energy deep in this realm of musicians and music lovers, and those just as in love with the people who make the music. The beachfront is loud, colorful, and busy with jagged notes and beating bass lines, tided over by kicks from a snare and through and through to the night bleeding into the morning sun.

The feeling creeps up on me again, of being here last year and performing for the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen beyond my table. Of people dancing, happy and careless in their merriment and in the intoxication of the moment. Heat blankets me in a sultry haze, bullets of sweat pushing down into my tank top, and the sand underneath my feet begins to warm. And right there, running at the shoreline are boys tearing off their shirts and jumping into the water. There’s sunlight and crystal blues, and also ropes of muscles and low-hanging board shorts.

Hello, summer. Yes, I missed you.

“People will stop asking that question if you answer truthfully for a change.”

I don’t forget Sungjin is right next to me, not in the way his voice hovers just behind my ear and above me. I turn to him and whatever sarcastic remark I have at the tip of my tongue just dissipates into the warm air. The sight of him under the sun leaves me speechless and feeling like I can melt into a puddle on the sand. Even now, somehow, it always feels like the first time I’m seeing his face.

“I’m okay now,” I say.

“Just for now, or…?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “For now for sure. For later, at least I hope so? I’m sorry, I wish I could be more certain.”

“For now is good enough,” he says, his voice wrapping around me like a hug. “Let’s look around?”

I wait for him to offer me his hand, but he doesn’t. So we walk side by side taking in the sights and the sounds. Three stages are set across the area, each with their own set of bands playing throughout the afternoon and the night. DAY6 performs tomorrow at one of the minor stages, but it’s already such feat for an unknown band who’s barely started out. I can’t wait for everyone to hear them play.

I wish I can play on the same stage.

The thought stabs at me.

“Did you get to sleep well?” Sungjin asks, softly. So soft, I feel like we’re on a cloud instead of the walking in the hot sand.

“What do you think?”

“I would’ve let you sleep. Do you want to nap a bit?”

I stifle a yawn. After we arrived, we headed into our respective rooms and laid down our stuff and settled in. Once that was out of the way, the rest of our group wandered out to the beach to swim and look around. I ran into Sungjin not too shortly after that. “Are you tired? You must be. If anyone should be sleeping, it’s you.”

“I’m fine,” he answers, “Don’t worry about me.”

Sungjin, always the manly man. “You don’t have to—“ I lose my nerve before I can even finish that sentence.

He raises a brow at me. “I don’t have to what?”

I take a breath and avert my gaze. I can’t look him in the eye like this so I stare at my sneakers. “You don’t have to always be strong or try to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s okay to be tired, too. If I can cry in front of you, you can be tired in front of me.” I look up, and, staggered by the intensity in his eyes, I almost back away. Almost. “I want to be that person for you.”

Sungjin never tells me what stresses him out even though there are times when I know he’s upset, or anxious, or not-okay. Not just with school stuff but with other things too. He never tells me anything. I don’t ask because I know he probably won’t talk to me about it and I don’t want to be shot down.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. You don’t have to do that. You already have so much on your hands.”

“It’s too late for that,” I say, “I’m already worried about you.” He can’t possibly think that even after all this time I haven’t come to care for him.

Sungjin runs his fingers through his hair and studies me. “A nap sounds good.”

Even though I know he won’t take to the touching, I take his arm and lead him back to the resort rooms. Slowly. As slow as conceivably possible. Because I also know that if I let him sleep, that’s time away from each other which defeats the purpose of being here at all. Kind of. I just tell myself no one wants to witness a sleep-deprived Sungjin go all aggro-mode on his bandmates because the rest of us will be collateral damage.

The walk is silent, and when we get to the hallway where we part ways the silence has become deafening. I hear my heart pounding in my ears, and his bicep tenses under my palm. I look up into his eyes and in there is a volatile brew swirling with both warmth and seriousness and something else.

“Your door is over there,” he says.

I nod, but don’t make a move. I glance at the opposite direction. “Yours is over there.”

I wonder if I’m about to get a kiss, but he just looks like he’s turning something over in his mind. He’s going to make me go to my room probably. He’ll stand by the door, remind me to set an alarm, and say that we’ll meet up before the festival starts or whatever. That is decidedly not what I want.

“What is it?” he asks, the dark husk of his voice scraping something raw inside me.

“I really want you to rest but…” My voice is shaky.

“But what?”

“It’s just that…I’ll be over here and you’ll be over there…”

“And that’s a problem?” His eyes spark with heat.

“Isn’t it?”

“It is.”

I don’t know how to ask for what I want, even though I know what it is. I’m sure Sungjin can tell. But because he’s Sungjin, he won’t just assume. He’ll make me say it. Out loud. There are a lot of things I want, so many things I can think of exploring with him, but I’m too chicken to take the first step. I can’t bring myself to ask out loud, so I stare at him hoping he’ll take it to mean that even though I’m not saying or doing anything, I am giving him unspoken permission to take the lead.

Sungjin moves the slightest so my hand falls off his arm, there’s a split second of disappointment that washes over me before it’s overtaken by the feeling of his warm hand engulfing mine. He leads me to his room. I am both nervous and excited.

“Don’t worry,” he says, unlocking the door and opening it wide enough for us to walk inside. “We could just nap.”

“I’m not worried.” Or maybe I am worried. Worried that he’ll take it too seriously and make sure that nap is all we ever do. Discreetly, I scan his room and find no traces of anyone else. “You don’t have a roommate?”

“No.”

One word and it sends a jolt up my spine. I try not to look happy about this. I take off my shoes and set them next to Sungjin’s sneakers. Then I join him on the bed where he’s already stretched out on one side.

Curling up next to him, I say “What, no pillow fort?”

“Do you want one?” he teases.

“No. If you made one I was gonna hit you with all these pillows.”

He laughs. Then he reaches over to slide one arm beneath me, and he rolls me over so my back is flush against his chest and his strong arms wrap around me. My head fits right under his chin and into the crook of his neck. I wrap my arms around his arms and tuck my face into the spaces in between. Sungjin relaxes into the embrace, and I can feel his breathing slow into a steady rhythm on my back. I know these cuddles will not come often, so I stay quiet and try not to do anything that could potentially jeopardise any future cuddles.

It will be very nice to be able to do this again. Maybe all the time.

It’s peaceful like this, waiting for Sungjin to fall asleep. Waiting for me to fall asleep. But I don’t want to sleep. I just want to feel him like his all the time, like there is no outside world out there. Like all we could ever need is this bed and these sheets.

Laying here with him like this is doing strange things to my senses. It’s not like I’m not trying hard enough to fall asleep, it’s just that I’ve never slept next to a guy before and his body heat is making me aware of all the places his body is pressed against mine. Of all the other ways his body is _not_ pressed against mine. All the other ways he can be.

Sungjin’s voice rumbles right through me. “Can’t sleep?”

“Uhm.”

When he laughs, I feel it from his chest and into my back.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll try not to fidget too much.”

“Are you a fidgety sleeper?”

“Ayeon says so.” But what she probably hears is me tossing and turning because I can’t sleep. But I don’t want Sungjin to know about that. At least not yet.

He just hums in reply, but his arms tighten around me and he shifts his head so his lips are at my ear. I can feel his breaths on my skin and there is no way I’m falling asleep now. My fear of rejection and my embarrassment are no match to how loud my heart is beating. I roll over to face him, and I only get halfway there before Sungjin completes the job himself. Like I weigh nothing, I’m flipped over face to face with him. One hand goes to the back of my neck and his other hand falls to my waist.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he says, but his eyes are clouded.

I don’t think that’s what he wants either, but I don’t know if I should argue. Sungjin isn’t the type to say what he doesn’t mean. He’s the type to make sure everything is laid out clearly so there’s nothing to misconstrue. “I’m not sleepy.”

“You’re not?”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

The feeling of dread festering inside me vanishes into his kiss. He pulls me tight into him, kisses me in a way that is both soft and hard, careful but with so much longing. It’s devastating. I’m not sure what to focus on first: the gentleness of his lips, or his tongue, or his hands running down my back, or the low throaty sounds he’s making.

I let my palms wander down his chest over his shirt. I don’t know how to ask for more. I’m afraid to ask for any more, so I take what he can give. I know I shouldn’t let myself get in over my head as well, but right now just feels so good and it’s never felt good like this in the past year.

Breaking the kiss, he says, “Hey.”

“Hi.” Please don’t stop now.

“You okay?” His eyes are dark, skimming over my face and searching for clues how to move on. Can’t he see I’m a puddle beneath his touch? I’m barely functional.

“Yes.”

He kisses me again, soft kisses that take my breath away. “You can tell me what you want.”

My heart is either beating too hard for me to catch up or it’s stopped beating entirely upon hearing him say the words as if he’s read my mind.

“Or don’t want,” he continues, still kissing me with featherlight touches of his lips. "That's okay, too."

I don’t want him to stop, but I also don’t know how else to go on from here. Sungjin notices my hesitation, I’m sure of it because even though his hold on me doesn’t loosen one bit, he shifts his hand so it’s cupping my jaw. Then with his thumb, he makes me look him in the eye.

“What is it? Do you want me to stop?”

I shake my head. Maybe a little too hard I see stars in my eyes.

He takes a deep breath and leans back a little. I know I’m not the only one affected by this because Sungjin’s ears are pink, and his breathing just as heavily as I am, but it’s all so unfair that he’s fully in control of his faculties. “What is it?”

How do you navigate your way around this? The words escape me so I just grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss. But I know he’s still waiting for me to say something. Anything. At this point, it’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. I’m too lost in a haze. Too in deep to ever find a way out.

“I just want to be sure,” he says, “No misunderstandings.”

Mustering enough courage, I finally say “This much is okay.” I reach over and touch his face, his lips. “Like this is okay.”

He presses a kiss into my palm, and my scalp tingles. “Okay, that’s good.”

Then he pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. _No…don’t stop now._ I’m about to voice out my protests, but then his lips follow a path down my ear, and my jaw, the sensitive skin under my chin, and down my collarbones. The lightest touches send a rush of sensation down my body, my toes are curling. Even if he’s going slow and every touch feels tentative, every move is deliberate. Everything Sungjin does, it seems, is always self-assured.

He breathes out my name.

“Yeah?”

“Can I touch you?”

“That is such a good idea. You should definitely do that. Yes. Go for it.”

My hand flies to my mouth and if not for Sungjin holding me against him, I’d have rolled away from his embrace and fallen off the bed from embarrassment. He’s smiling into my temple, I can feel it. But then I’m laughing too. I can’t remember the last time it’s felt like this, like everything is going right for a change.

“I’ve been having the worst year,” I tell him. “And you’re the only good thing in it.”

He smiles a little, it’s really more of a self-satisfied smirk. “I can’t be the only good thing in it.”

“You’re the best thing in it.” And I mean it. Every single word. Sungjin just might be the best thing that’s happened to me all year, and I don’t mean it in the way that it’s been so bad any semblance of good is great. I mean it in the way that I don’t know how this much good has found its way into my life but here he is now.

This time the kisses are different in that they feel like they mean something else. They’re just as good, maybe better, but I can’t explain why. Or maybe it’s worse because it’s better? Maybe there is no explanation. All I know is that in this moment, we both want the same thing, and it isn’t simply being on this bed together, though there is that. Though something changed in the air in those few moments, it’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s the best thing because it means there will be more of this in the future. That there might be a future to look forward to after all.

“Can you do me a favor?” Sungjin asks, draping me over his chest and holding me in place.

“What is it?” I’m a little disappointed this means we’re back to just napping, but my head is so fuzzy it’s probably a good decision.

His hand traces delicate patterns on my back. “Don’t take my class next semester. Can you promise me that?”

I press my ear to listen to his heartbeat. “I’m not a bad student,” I whine. “Am I?”

“You’re terrible,” he teases. “But that’s not why I don’t want you to be my student.”

“Oh. It’s not?”

His chest shakes as he chuckles at me. “I can’t date you if you’re my student.”

“ _Oh_. Oh.”

“So don’t take any of my classes, got that?”

“I got it,” I mumble. Inside, I’m squealing, but I’m suddenly feeling the hours I didn’t sleep off. “Okay, you’ve been awake since three. You should really sleep.”

He leans down and gives me a _serious_ kiss. I answer with a sleepy smile. We hold each other for a while until exhaustion weighs up both down. Our breathing syncs, and I can’t help but put notes to it, like a song that I’ve always been singing but can’t note down. It feels like song I’ve been chasing has finally slowed down so I can reach out for the music as if it were something I can hold in my hand. As if the music were as solid as Sungjin around me, tucked safely in his arms. The last thing I feel before consciousness finally leaves me are Sungjin’s gentle caresses.


	26. Chapter 26

DAY6 takes the stage and the festival by storm and though they went up there unknown, they’re definitely leaving that stage with about a few hundred people remembering who they are. Being here in the mosh pit is doing things to my brain however, and the murky feeling is back. That sense of dread is back and I don’t know what to do about it.

Guilt stabs at me because even though I am genuinely happy for the band, I can’t help but feel displaced and alone even in the middle of a crowd. With my friends. It’s the worst thing, your brain telling you how excited and happy you should be but your body is slowly shutting down before your own eyes and you’re left watching yourself in some odd out of body experience. And then you feel nothing. You’re numb and empty on the inside and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Suddenly the world feels too bright and too loud and you just want to hide away.

“I saw that,” Jae says to me the moment we regroup at the festival grounds. He pulls me away from the rest of the band in that weird unspoken way where we automatically just lag behind because I know he has something to say.

“You saw nothing.” Yet I rewind the past couple of hours wondering what exactly Jae is insinuating he saw. It can be anything. Or it can be nothing. With Jae, I never know.

He tilts his head and his hair falls into his eyes. “I saw that look.”

“What look?” I can play this game forever. If only because I know it will annoy him.

He throws a pointed look at Sungjin, then at me. “I saw _that_.”

That. I never know what Jae means by _that_. To be fair, he likes being vague because he knows it’s the best way to catch someone off guard. But I was there when Namjoon taught him that trick so he should have known better than try using it on me. “Shouldn’t you be working on your vlog?”

He raises his phone. “I _am_ working on my vlog. But right now I’m working on our fragile friendship. You know what we should do? We should go to the other side of the beach and take some establishing shots of the festival, what do you think?”

I laugh at _fragile friendship._ “We’re not separating from the group. That’s like Rule Number One. Honestly, Jae. I don’t think our friendship has been more solid than it is at this instant.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, “Truly, I do. You know I’m always here for you, right? Always and forever.”

A prickle hits the back of my ears. “What are you always-and-forevering on about? You’re making me nervous.”

“I mean it. I saw some food stalls over at the other side too. You hold the camera while I do the things. This is really important.”

“Okay. What is it? Just tell me.” This is ridiculous. Jae is never subtle, and when he tries it just makes it more obvious something’s the matter. He’s been acting weird all day.

“I was there, Kit.”

Kit. That’s new.

Jae pauses mid-step. “I was there at the hospital, remember?”

I can never forget.

“I was scared,” he says, his voice cracking at the surface. “I was scared for you. I’m still scared for you now. I know Sungjin’s nothing like that last dude, but what if this time it’s something else? Does Sungjin even know?”

“You really want to have this conversation now?” My eyes make a quick round of our surroundings. We’re in the middle of the beach, walking toward the stages for the start of the festival. Hundreds, if not thousands of people around us, all losing themselves in the heat and the music.

No, Sungjin doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. I never asked what else he’s found out through Professor Park.

He raises his arms in defeat. “When else can we have this conversation?”

“Not right now at this instant?” From the corner of my eye I see Sungjin looking at us from over his shoulder. They’ve gone ahead a couple of paces away but now he’s curious. I can’t look at him directly because it feels like acknowledging something is happening and Sungjin, being Sungjin, will swoop in and try to save the day.

“Hey, look.” And then there it is. Jae calls me by my first name, something he’s never done since he came to see me at the clinic when the nurse called him in. “He’s here.”

My head is spinning. “Who’s here?”

“Joonyoung.”

“I know.” I saw the event fliers and the website. I know Joonyoung’s band is playing tonight. I know the statistical probability of running into him is inversely proportional to how much I _don’t_ want to see him.

“His band is playing.”

“I know.”

“They might be playing your song.”

“I have considered that.” I really haven’t. I tried not to think about it—didn’t really have time to think about it, what with Sungjin keeping me busy.

“Do you think you’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because, I mean, I guess if you’re with Sungjin—“

“I can be okay just by myself, you know?” Jae’s been on my case about this forever. He keeps saying I should work on being okay for me. That people can only help me so much, but in the end I have to do what I have to do to recover. “Do you not think I can? It’s been a year?”

Jae shrugs. “Are you okay?”

The buzz of activity around me swirls into a nauseating mesh of colours and sound. Music coalesces with yelling, the bass and the treble become colours that dip and rise with the highs and the lows, and the faces around me blur into and endless inquiry of “Are you okay?”

My nails dig into my palms and I squeeze my fists tight. “What? Yeah. I’ve never been better. I’m writing music again. I’m really trying.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he shoots back. “How are you? For real?”

“I—“

In the distance, I hear Joonyoung’s voice and I know I’m not just imagining it. I hear him from the stage somewhere, that low gravelly voice I can’t seem to forget. I don’t feel the same way anymore, that much is true. But maybe what I feel is something else. Something a lot like betrayal because any time now he’s going to be singing my words and my music.

Once, Jae asked me how I felt about it. I said I don’t want to think about it. I never thought about it so now I’m left drowning in all the things I refused to think about—refused to talk about.

“What’s wrong?” Sungjin’s voice hovers just behind my head. “What’s going on? What are you two talking about? Jae, what did you do?”

There’s silence, which is weird because there’s music and there’s the crowd, but it feels like silence. Sickening, cold silence. I feel it in my stomach like a heavy lump. I feel it in my throat like cotton but with thorns. I can’t breathe.

“Tired, I think,” I say. It’s not a lie.

“Do you want to go back to your room?” Sungjin asks.

I shake my head. I want to go…somewhere. Away from here.

“I just need some air.”

Sungjin touches my arm and I flinch at the contact. “Sorry,” I say, conscious now of the way Jae is watching. Of the way I know the rest of the group is aware of what’s going on. I avoid Sungjin’s worried gaze. He hears it too, I’m sure. Everyone’s hard Joonyoung by now. “I’m just a little tired.”

“I can go with you,” Sungjin offers.

“No, it’s fine. You should enjoy the rest of the night. I’m just going to sleep. I think I’m getting a migraine from all these people and all these lights and all the sounds.”

“Are you sure?”

I see the conflict on his face. “Yes. Really. I just…I’ll come back a little later after this. I’ll call you and meet up with you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

I nod at Sungjin. “I’m sure. I’ll be okay. Nothing will happen.” That last bit I say to Jae as a promise.

Without waiting for them to answer, I turn on my heel and walk away but Sungjin catches up to me. “Wait,” he says, coming to a stop in front of me. “Don’t shut me out.”

I just shake my head, afraid. “I wish I could explain what’s going on in my head, but I can’t.”

“Try,” he urges.

In the middle of this crowd? In the dimming of the day giving into moonrise? Someone bumps into me from behind and I choke back a sob. “I don’t know how.”

“You have to tell me what’s broken so I can fix it.”

Those words open up a dam that floods the space between us, there’s an ocean separating us now. “You can’t fix me. You don’t fix people. Is that what this is? You fixing me? What if you can’t fix me? What if I come with a factory defect that can’t be fixed?”

“You don’t have a factory defect.”

“I can’t be what you think I am.” The same way I can’t be what Professor Park thinks I can be. They’re wrong about me. They’re all wrong. “You can’t make me into something that will be good enough for you.”

“I would never—“

“I will be always be broken like this. Sometimes I don’t know why. Sometimes there won’t be a reason. I just am. Factory defect.”

“That’s okay, I can still be there for you.”

“It won’t be fair.” My voice strains in this setting. The crowd around us is dancing now, jumping up and down to the hard kicks and the hypnotic beats from the speakers. “It’s not fair.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s all too much. “I will somehow inevitably hurt you.”

“That’s okay, too. I can take it.”

“You don’t deserve that.”

“You’re just trying to push me away.”

Because that’s what I’m good at. I’m good at running and pushing people away, not caring to see who even comes running after me. “I’m never going to be the girl you think I am. Whatever version of me you have in your head, that’s not me.”

“It could be.”

I can’t live with that kind of pressure. “Are you only here with me now because you think I could be?”

“I know you can be.”

And just like that, the strings holding me together all snap. With one last shaky step back, I say goodbye to Sungjin. I don’t look back to see if he follows me. He doesn’t. I walk back to the room I share with Ayeon. For the next hour, I cry. I cry as I pack up my things. I cry as I leave a note telling Ayeon not to worry about me. I cry until it feels pointless, until I can’t cry anymore. I walk all the way to the nearest bus stop. I try not to cry while waiting for the bus to arrive, and I’ve just about ran out of tears when it does and I take my seat. For the entire trip I stare out the window feeling nothing.

When I get to our dorm, I drop my things then leave immediately. I walk as if I’m not tired. I walk until my legs beg me to stop. And then I sit somewhere, buy myself a coffee I have no desire to drink, and sit some more. And then I go home and sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

The weekend passes by without me remembering much of it.

On Monday I leave the apartment before Ayeon and Huiryong arrive. My roommates have been sending me nonstop messages but have not threatened me with coming home before they’re supposed to. I hope it’s because Jae has explained that I need alone time. Because that’s exactly what I need.

Furthermore, I did assure Jae that I’m not in any immediate danger to myself. Immediate life-threatening danger. I promised I wouldn’t be. At least I told him as much the next afternoon when I woke up. Following that, I’ve had time to think. I’ve decided. I’ll just have to fail Professor Park’s class. I’ll figure out a way not to take Sungjin’s class next semester because I don’t think I can face him. Or maybe I can find a way to skip those credits or take something else.

Life hasn’t been difficult, after all. Perhaps it’s time to admit I’m just not as good as they believe I am. Also, I’m a mess. Maybe work on that, too.

After about four rounds walking around the courtyard, I gather enough courage to climb up the steps to the main building and up the stairs and down the hallways to Professor Park’s office. But I take a few more rounds back and forth the hall, and then a trip to the bathroom before walking up the the department. I knock twice then poke my head in. Without looking up, he gestures me to come in. He’s on his desk, grading transcriptions.

“Good to see you, how are you?” he asks, pulling off his reading glasses and folding them and tucking them into the chest pocket of his dress shirt. “How have you been doing? Have a seat. I’ve been hoping you’d show up.”

Without removing my backpack, I take a seat on the chair across his desk. I open my mouth to tell him I won’t be submitting my final project, but what comes out is, “I’ve been writing.”

“That’s good to hear. You disappeared.”

 _Again_.

And right now I want to disappear one more time. How is it that when everything is going according to plan, I still freak out? “I’m okay. Just overwhelmed.”

“The offer with Dr. Choi still stands, if you want it. When you’re ready for it. I can put in a good word for you should you need it. Did something happen?”

“Just a lot of stuff.” Like Joonyoung. Like Sungjin. Music. Radio. My friends. Friends? They’re still my friends, I think. What if Dr. Choi asks me to let go of everything? What will be left for me? “But I’ve been working on my music.”

His face lights up in that paternal way. “That is good news. I am so happy to hear that. Sungjin hasn’t been driving you too hard, has he?”

Of course, they’re both involved. My throat goes dry and I swallow the lump forming there. “Slave-driver,” I say, attempting levity. “I feel like he squeezed my brain dry until there’s nothing left.”

Professor Park chuckles to himself. “That sounds like him. You have them with you? Your songs?”

I feel the thumb drive burning a hole through my backpack. I do have it with me. Not because I intend to submit the work but because I can’t just leave it anywhere. I fidget with the sleeves of my jacket and pull them over my fingers. “They’re not…ready yet. I’m starting to think maybe this is for me.”

“They don’t have to be perfect. No song is perfect the first round. Give me something that’s true. Give me something real. That would be enough. You’re very talented. More than talented, you work hard. You’re a promising producer. A promising artist.”

Have I been working? “Maybe I’m better just curating playlists and mixes and other things that don’t require original thought. I know that’s what I’m really good at. I’ve been working on some things and that’s really where I know I can thrive.”

Professor Park leans forward on his desk and rests his weight on his elbows. “But your work has always been excellent. I’ve told you this, you have a natural ear for these things. I’m already setting you up so I can hire you even before you graduate. That’s how good you are. That’s how good you can be.”

Here we are again with people seeing something they want to see. Wanting me for something I’m not. Something they think I can be. Someone they can turn me into to fit into their perfect ideal.

“Your music,” he pushes, “it makes people move. It makes hearts quiver. It begs to be danced to, to be cried to. It might not be brilliant yet, but the potential is there. There’s so much more for you to learn and accomplish. Why are you resisting?”

“I’m not. It just feels like when I make my own music, it’s flat. I know how to make someone else’s music bold, how to bring out the best parts of someone else, but creating something out of nothing is like trying to catch moonbeams in your hand or trying to push sunlight into a black box with glass walls to break it.”

“That is how it feels like,” he says patiently, “the creative process is scary. It’s okay to not know what you’re doing or to feel like you’re making up the rules as you go along.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

“You don’t think you’re capable, or is it that you’re afraid?”

What’s the difference? “I just think that some people are made to stay in the shadows so that other people can stand in the spotlight. I like it when people hear what I’ve done to their work and they say they’ve never even thought about mixing it that way, and that it sounds like how it should have all long. I like being the one to bring out the best in people’s work.”

Professor Park taps his pen thoughtfully on his stack of papers. He looks like he had some kind of epiphany, but he’s holding back on revealing what it is for now. “That is a veritable career in itself, but what about you? What about your own music? I’m afraid you’re never going to discover your own voice. That you’re afraid of how loud you can be. Are you afraid of being heard?”

Being out there means being subject to people’s gazes and their thoughts, and being at their mercy hurts. Of course, I’m afraid. I look away and force myself not to tear up. I glance at the door. Escape feels so far away all of a sudden.

“Do you have it with you? Your EP?” Professor Park’s gaze seems to look through me. See what’s true even as I try to hide it.

I nod. Certain now that he has some uncanny ability to make people do his bidding. “But there’s too much Sungjin,” I say, “there’s too much of him in the songs and not enough of…of me.”

He nods, a smile brewing on his face. “I can understand that. I can hold your grade until the end of the Summer Semester. I can hold you grade until the start of next term, even. Report to Sungjin? Find a regular schedule for progress updates.”

That is already more than I deserve. “Thank you. Thank you, but I’d rather not work with Sungjin, if that’s alright.”

“Did something happen?”

I swallow back words that aren’t really words. “It’s not that. I just…I’d like to…” I can’t believe I’m saying this, but “Can I just go straight to you?”

He smiled. “That’s even better.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Professor park dismisses me after we work out an arrangement and what exactly I need to submit to him at every report. I leave his office with a weird sense that I both did something wrong, but also something right.

At least I didn’t cry.

 

***

 

The worry doesn’t abate because running into any of my roommates, the Sweg Crew, and Sungjin feels inevitable. Every step I take brings me closer to any one of them, but not moving will only lead to the same thing. It’s one or the other. Either I find someone first, or someone finds me. I don’t know which is worse.

Before I start sprouting roots and digging myself permanently into the ground, I make a snap decision and head to the station. I find Namjoon there, drinking coffee and brooding over a book he’s reading. Without saying anything, he glances at me from over the page he’s reading, tilts his head in a manner I can only assume is both acknowledgement and knowing, and then returns his attention to whatever Philosophy book he’s reading. He keeps consuming all these thoughts, these ideas, one day I won’t be surprised if he just starts shitting books.

We sit in silence for hours. I fall asleep. Wake up. Decide I’m too lazy to go out and get food. Go back to sleep again. And then it’s time for our shift. Namjoon starts his program the usual way, opening up with some thought or another before playing his new mix.

“Do you ever feel like a tourist in your own skin?” At some point the music stops and is replaced by his voice, deep and rumbling, even more so in the heat of the summer night. Inside the studio it’s glacial, but it doesn’t change the feeling the season brings. Everything feels more passionate somehow. “Or homesick even if you’ve gone nowhere?”

Nights like these are both the best and the worst because Namjoon never has a set program. He never has a spreadsheet for at least three weeks’ worth of content. He does what he feels like, goes with whatever thought comes to him, so willing to let the world consume him even as it drains him. He talks, plays some music. Talks again, reminds the night—reminds us, calls us moonchildren—I’m still here. We're still here. Alive.

I turn to him, still in a haze, my head fuzzy from hunger or maybe something else. Something about Namjoon always makes me feel like I can say things out loud and not feel judged. These four in the morning conversations have a way of making you feel that way. “I really like him,” I say, “So much. Like, I _really_ like him. Really, really.”

Namjoon leans forward on his elbows, links his knuckles together and rests his chin on top of them. His smile is gentle, his dimple just a bit teasing. “That’s good. It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“It’s the worst feeling ever. Because I’m still just me, you know? I feel different, but it’s still me. I still wake up a tourist in my own skin. Or maybe ever since, I’ve felt like a tourist in my own skin. Like I don’t belong here. Or parts of me don’t really belong.”

“Can’t breathe in the daylight?”

“I can never breathe. Not in the daylight, not in the moonlight. I’m drowning. It always feels like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe.” The tears are coming now, unbidden and unwanted. I angrily swipe them away with the sleeves of my sweater.

Namjoon reaches forward, asking me to give him my hand. I know what he’s asking, and it’s not to hold hands. Slowly, I lay my hand, palm up, on top of his. One glance is all it takes. Even without pushing my sleeve up, he sees what I hide. He closes his large hand over mine, rubs the edge of my hand with his thumb.

“Oh, baby girl.”

The last time he called me that was the night I told them all about my factory defect. Of all of them, only Namjoon really understood what it’s like. The others tried, but I don’t blame them for not knowing what it really _is_ like. Or that they’ve become afraid for me. Of me.

“It’s silly, isn’t it. This is my trigger.”

“It’s not,” he answers patiently. “I think, and this is something I’ve come to realize only recently, we’re too hard on ourselves. We forget to breathe. We forget to take a moment to allow ourselves to feel what we truly feel and that’s why it feels like we’re grenades about to go off at any moment. We can’t breathe because there’s no space to breathe, we’re filled with too much loneliness, stockpiling pain, afraid to be happy.”

“Afraid to be happy, you know how that sounds?”

“I do,” he murmurs. “It’s because we’re used to feeling a certain way, we’ve accepted it as our truth. So when we’re threatened with something new, something we haven’t felt in a while, we close ourselves off from it. We’d rather be sad, taking comfort in knowing what it’s like, than be happy knowing happiness is fleeting at its worst. We’d rather hide in the rain than stand in the sun where others can see through us. We don't protect our hearts by pretending we don't have one.”

“Hide our hearts under the bed because the heart is an easy thing to break. If we’re not careful, someone can break it.”

“You forget, there are monsters under the bed.”

I chuckle darkly to myself. “There are monsters everywhere.”

“So why hide your heart?”

That…went in a direction I did not, could not have, expected. Namjoon just smiles at me, that melancholic smile that gets what it’s like to feel sad all the time and not know why. We all hope we can get through depression with some semblance of levity. Hope the breaking things kind of mood will pass without us breaking ourselves in the process. To be told to just feel sad—to just _feel_. Why is this a breakthrough?

“Maybe the worst part of pain isn’t that it hurts,” I say, staring at my hands. “I think the worst part is that it’s completely normal.”

Our deck starts to ping with messages, one after the other. Words thanking us for putting into words how they feel, words that remind them to breathe, words that give them hope. Hope because they’re not alone.

“Oh, shit,” I say, “Are we online?”

Namjoon just stares at the red light. “Oh, shit.”

I cover my face and laugh. “Ah, well. That happened. Vulnerability is the worst.” What’s the worst that can happen now? Somehow, it feels inevitable that we’ll be airing out all these things on radio. “Being open, being out there, cracking open your ribs and giving people the gun to shoot you with is not a good feeling.”

“Words are bullets, looks are bullets, everything is ammunition,” Namjoon continues, “But that’s the price of friendship, of love, the total surrender of yourself. When you’re real, you’re loved. When you’re you, people see you and fall in love. In all the ways one can fall in love. Romantically, platonically, with your art, with your mind.”

“The process of becoming you, of becoming real—“

“Is a process. You _become_. Like in The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams.” Namjoon lifts up the book he’s been reading. A children's book offering the insight we forget as adults. “It’s a long time before you become who you are. It can be a heartbreaking process. Not for the people who break easily or have sharp edges or have to be kept in glass boxes. But no one else can define your realness for you. You are made real by love. When someone loves you, you are made real.”

A different sort of tears rolls down my face. “Something real.” Professor Park’s words come to me, asking me to give him something true. “Be who you are and say what you feel.”

Namjoon nods. “And be loved for it. Love someone in return. It’s what makes this life worth living, I think. Our humanity may be imperfect and we will always have the odds stacked against us, but love is a mirror. And more than anything else, we must love ourselves. That’s tonight’s epiphany.”

I laugh. “Or get a better mirror if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself.”

My thoughts find Sungjin in the darkness. Thoughts and memories of him settle softly like morning dew on the grass, much unlike the hurricane of thoughts that have plagued my life. “For so many of us we believe that no one will fall in love with us, but maybe one day you meet someone who makes you feel like the sun is something they made with their own two hands and hung in the sky for you so you don’t have to keep standing in the rain. Or maybe they’re the sun.”

Sungjin is like that sun. Always finding ways for his light to reach into the darkest corners. Like the sun, like light that is both a particle and a wave, he shatters through the cracks of my broken heart and warms me from the inside out.

More tears fall and Namjoon gathers me in his arms. “Or you become someone's sun. Or moon. There, there. It’s okay to cry. Just don’t tear yourself in the process.”

“This is worst.” Yet as I’m crying, I’m laughing too. It’s a long way to go before I can right myself, but this is a start. Depression can’t be cured by the contents of a first aid kit, and these conversations at four in the morning can only do so much. I understand now what Professor Park has been communicating all along.

I can’t write when I’m sad. I can go back to my pain, dog-ear the page or play it on loop, I can hope that it might hurt less with every repeat, but pain will always just be pain. My brokenness isn’t what makes my music good. It’s something I can talk about, something I can write about, something that can lead to my breakthrough, but it’s not who I am. I have to be better if I want to keep creating. I have to remember the things I love and love doing. Make room for the things that give me joy. Somehow find a way to keep reminding myself why this life is, and will always be, worth living.

Pain is completely normal. The point isn’t to hold on to it, but to feel it for what it is so we can let it go. Acknowledge that it’s real. Only then can we make art with the pieces of our broken hearts.

Namjoon responds to the messages, reads others aloud, shares a line from that book he read—pain is a legion. Everyone knows pain, and that is a gift.

“Knowing pain means we get to find the others life gave lemons to,” I say, “Find some water. Some sugar. Make lemonade. Make life refreshing.”

“That’s a philosophy I can live by.”

“It’s easy to forget the things we love doing. When it’s dark, it’s easy to forget that the light is just there, that the sun and the moon and the stars don’t really go anywhere.”

“Rain. Rain reminds us that rainbows exist. That the sun will shine again. There will always be light.”

“We have to stay for the rainbows. Through the pain and the sorrows. Life won’t always be rainbows. There will always be bad days. And even though today may feel like it’s as bad as it can ever get, tomorrow still exists. And we have to stay for tomorrow. Because tomorrow, today will have been over.”

Namjoon squeezes me tight, drops a kiss on the top of my head. “And tomorrow, under the full sunlight, when the smokescreen of lies have cleared, you can see that there are hands willing to reach out into the dark to help you out of it.”

It’s like that tree that falls in a forest, unless you make a sound no one will know you’re falling. That’s why we make words and music our friends because they’re the echoes of the parts of us we’re afraid to express out loud. And just like music, just like when we’re in the middle of a moshpit, we are at our most powerful and our most beautiful when we open up and just let go.

We end the program at a lighter note, with laughter and music curated to heal. Daylight breaks, but we don’t have to hold our breaths anymore.

Sungjin is outside the station, waiting. “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me later.” And I let myself fall into his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references:
> 
> RM - Mono  
> The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams


	28. Chapter 28

When I wake up, Sungin is still wrapped around me. I’m curled inside his embrace, feeling the safest I’ve ever been in so long. Even my muscles, the ones that are always somehow aching, feel at rest. My shoulders aren’t holding on to any tension, and my neck doesn’t hurt. I’ve never woken up feeling this well-rested in months. His plaid shirt is soft on my cheek, and I breathe more of him in. Is that creepy? Is that creepier than watching him sleep?

“Hey.”

Oops.

I look up and he’s doing that half-smile thing he does. “Hi.”

He squints at me. “You mumble in your sleep.”

I groan, just a little bit. “Did I say anything weird?”

His half-smile grows into a smug smirk. “I think you were singing.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Was it terrible?”

“You sing very well, what are you talking about? I was asking you what you were singing, but you just shushed me and said to be quiet and listen well because you’re writing me a love song.”

“I said that? I did _not_ say that!” Though, I have been thinking about love songs. More in the abstract sense of it. I don’t think it’s the kind of work I want to submit to Professor Park, at least not for this project, but I have been thinking about them. Thinking about how so many songs are about pain and heartbreak. How, when people are asked about their day, it’s always the worst things they remember. Someone could have told them then sun rises in their eyes, but all they’ll remember is that someone else said their ears are slightly crooked.

“You really did! I wish I took a video, but I was worried you’ll get mad.” He moved closer, the warmth of his body making me shiver in the best ways. Like this, his voice is a whisper in my ear. Hot breaths and sweet words.

I peek up at him. “Embarrassed, more like. I won’t get mad.” At least not at him, I think. “I was thinking of a song. I remember that. Or maybe I was dreaming.”

His fingers curl into my hair. “You dream about songs about me?”

“I dream about all sorts of things. Don’t feel too special.” Though he should. I don’t remember my last nightmare. In a way, I feel like this should worry me, depending on him like this. But maybe he really is the sun and as long as I’m with him, the shadows can’t get to me.

“You also told me to go walk the cactus or something.” Then he laughs and it fills the room.

“At least I don’t drool…do I?”

Sungjin pretends to think about it. "No. At least not yet.”

I kick at him with my legs, but he just tangles our limbs together, we knot and fit perfectly.

When I sink further into his chest, he tightens his arm around me. I hope the arm I’m using as a pillow isn’t going numb yet. Because I’d like to stay like this a little longer. When I saw him at the station this morning, he said he had something to say. We haven’t had that conversation yet. I asked him to take me back to the apartment, and then I asked him to stay, and now here we are one very good nap later.

I lift my head and wiggle around to create some space between us. Just a little bit. “I really hope you weren’t planning on saying something like you never want to see me again or something like it. But if you are, it’s okay. Please do it gently. I’ll take it. But I really hope not.”

Sungjin shifts a bit, and plants his elbow on his pillow and props his head over the heel of his palm. We stare at each other for a moment. “No,” he says softly. “I won’t do that. I came to apologize. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to make you think that I was trying to fix you, or that I liked you because of what I thought you were, or what I thought you could be. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. I’m sorry I made you say it.”

“I should have…I don’t know…I should have realized what was going on.”

Shaking my head, I say, “No! That’s not…you don’t have to do that. That’s not…You shouldn’t…I am responsible for myself and the things that go on in my head. That’s on me. I can’t always rely on people to adjust for me. I can’t do that. That’s not right. It’s no excuse for how terrible I’ve been to you.”

“You weren’t terrible to me.”

“I was, though. I could have been better to you.” Done more for him. Be there for him the way he was for me. But I was too locked up in my own tower, and who put me in there? I did. This broken brain did. “Even if I have this factory defect—“

“Hey, no.” He shushes me. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. You don’t have a factory defect.“

“I sort of do,” I say without a hint of shame. Sungjin has always known, though we never talked about it. Not like this. For the longest time I was so ashamed of it. Because how can I possibly explain to anyone and make sense of it? Because it doesn’t make sense. “You know I do."

Sungjin cups my face with his free hand. “I know. I know this is something you have to constantly carry, and I don’t know what it’s like. I’ll never know what you’re going through. But you’re not going through this alone. You never were. And you never will.”

“When it’s like this, I feel like it really will be okay but I know that it might not always be. My bad days will be back, and they might get worse. Because there will be bad days. And nobody deserves to be around me during the bad days. I’m very hard to love on those days. It’s not fair.”

“I get to decide what’s fair or not,” he says, “the person you become when it’s bad isn’t who you are. And even when it’s bad, just tell me. If it’s too loud, I’ll soundproof your walls. If it’s too bright, I’ll turn down the lights and draw the curtains shut. You said so yourself, there will be bad days, but you have to stay for the good days too. Because there will be good days.”

“You heard that?”

“I was listening last night. I always have been listening to your program. I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

Another smile. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

“About what?” About him? That I might be in love with him? That I might already be in too deep?

“About that guy you really _really_ like.”

It takes a few seconds, but I nod. “I think I might love him. And that scares me. So I think I pushed him away. Because loving me is hard. I know because I keep trying, and it’s hard.”

“Don’t worry, this guy figured out as much. Among other things.” Sungjin smiles because he understands.

A part of me is terrified, but a stronger part of me wants to keep him for as long as he’ll let me. I want Sungjin to be mine in all the ways a person belongs with someone else. Somehow, all the signs lead to Sungjin, as if every good and bad decision lead me to this room, in this bed, with him. I don’t know what this is or what else it could be. It’s too much to think of when there’s so much of my life that I need to get back in order.

But this— _this_ —feels like it can be real. Even though feelings are messy, and mine will take a while to sort through and I don’t always completely trust myself, this makes me think all the love songs make sense. That there really aren’t enough love songs in the world.

“Let me be the one to remind you of the good days,” Sungjin says. “The ones we had. The ones we can still have. If it gets that bad, I can wait until it goes away for the meantime. I really can. Even if it’s hard, I can still love you.”

Speechless, I stare at the buttons on his shirt. They’ve come undone somehow, so beyond that is his white shirt. I try not to think of what’s underneath. I try not to think of anything at all. My head is fuzzy again, but it’s a different sort of fuzzy.

“Look at me,” he says, “I want you to listen.”

Iraise my eyes.

Sungjin stares at me for a long time before he speaks. “I want you know that I’m choosing you, like this, as you are. I can’t ask for anything more. Whoever you are right now is what I choose. You and the safety and the kindness and the happiness you bring. I feel I can relax enough to stay. I’m not asking to be loved more or to be cared for more. If this the relationship you have to offer, I’ll take it. You’re right for me just the way you are. If this is as good as it can get, it would be enough.”

I press my face into his chest so he can’t watch me cry. I wish I can tell him with as much certainty that things will be okay because I know they won’t be all the time. But those are worries I leave behind for now. Overthinking has never done me any good.

“I’m going to start seeing Dr. Choi,” I tell him.

“You are?”

“I wasn’t ready—or maybe I was just afraid. I didn’t want to admit to the bad days. But I can’t do that anymore. Because I want to keep making music and I want to perform. I want to be able to go to music festivals and just everywhere with you and not freak out. I want to be a good friend and be there for people. I want to be someone who can love you with my everything because that’s what you deserve. There’s so much I want to be and do, and I can’t go out there until I learn to manage what’s going on inside my head.”

“I’m really glad to hear that…I…I’m proud of you.”

Somehow, that makes me cry even harder. “Will you go with me? To see Dr. Choi?”

“Of course. I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to wait for me. I just…I don’t want to go there by myself. At least not on the first day. I can just see you after. We can meet up somewhere. And then in the future, after my sessions, I can go get you after your class—I’d really like to do that.”

“Okay,” he wraps his arms around me again, presses me tight against him. “Okay. I can do that.”

Asking Sungjin to help me help myself feels like the bravest thing I can do right now, so I have no fear or worry when I tug at the collar of his shirt to pulls his face toward mine. At first, he gives me this confused expression. But then a smile curves his lips. Naughty boy, why does he looks so happy? He chuckles as he moves his head closer, eyes trained on my lips. I can’t keep my eyes away from his, either. Getting closer. And closer. And then his mouth brushes mine and I’m both smiling and kissing him, but he is too so it’s all fair.

The kiss is soft and tentative but at the same time sure, much like what this thing between us is. Sungjin’sarm is around my shoulders again, his hand in my hair, and the other one on my waist. He uses both as leverage to draw me closer to him. I kiss him with everything I have, somehow making up for what I don’t have.

Sungjin’s mouth is warm. His kisses are always gentle. Soft. Almost sensual. Always careful. Kissing Sungjin just might be the single most incredible thing in this life. More than the thrill of being on stage and getting lost in the music. It feels like an explosion of sounds, of music lining up with time—guitar riffs in perfect harmony with the kicks and the snares, and a deep thrumming bass line that moves your hips before you’re aware. Just above is a layer of synths, an aural equivalent of the best day of your life, and you’re raising your arms and throwing your head in abandon. It’s the perfect summer siren song.

He licks my bottom lip and nips at it slightly, and even if he’s the one in control I can’t help but feel like he’s falling apart just as I am. It’s in the way he’s breathing heavily, the way a husky moan escapes his throat, and the low sounds from his chest.

“I really might love you, you know,” I tell him. “I like you so much.”

“Can you say that again?” He kisses my cheek and brushes his nose against mine.

“I’m in love with you.” It feels like such a big word and yet not enough to contain what I’m feeling. I close my eyes and kiss him under his jaw and trace a path back up to his lips. “I really am falling in love with you.”

“Can I touch you?” he asks between breaths. “Is that okay?”

I nod. “Yes. Can I touch you too?”

He chuckles, slipping his hand just underneath the hem of my hoodie. “Careful,” he whispers, “I’m really ticklish.”

I don’t think I’ve ever written a song about kissing before? Kissing Sungjin makes me think of how may kissing songs there are, and how there are probably not enough. I need to do something about that. But not right now. Right now kissing Sungjin is more important.

I press my palms against his chest just to feel him under my hands—the way his heart is pounding like mine. With his hand hot against my skin, I don’t know where I’m supposed to focus my attention on. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t done anything else but press his calloused fingers against the skin on my waist, but it already feels like I won’t survive more.

And yet…the idea of knowing him in every way possible thrills me. And the idea of him seeing me open and exposed?

“Wait.”

He stops everything and pulls away to look at me. “What’s wrong?”

I sit up, suddenly nagged by a realization.

“Did I do something?”

“No. It’s not you. I…” I look at him as he sits up next to me. “I…”

Sungjin’s worried gaze searches me for answers. “What is it?”

Slowly, I lift my hoodie up and over my head, not minding the way my tank top is riding up my skin. I stop just before I pull my arms from my sleeves. “There’s something you need to know.”

Sungjin’s gentle smile breaks me. He _knows_. “I’ve seen them before,” he says taking my hands and kissing them. He tugs the hoodie away to reveal my arms. It’s just the one arm. And they’re not nearly as bad as before, but still bad because I promised myself I’ll never do it again. “Come here.”

I shake my head, ashamed.

“It’s okay.” He pulls me into his lap and holds me. “It really is okay. As long as you let me with you like this.”

I look up at his lovely eyes.

“I'm not afraid," he promises, "I’ll be your first aid kit from now on.”


	29. Chapter 29

 

Radio feels like radio again, and it’s like the world is coming back to me in full high-definition surround sound. Like I’ve been in trapped in a wall of reverse-sound, at risk of being trapped in the loudness of silence.

Jae is laughing at a joke he just made up. I don’t know if it’s funny, but I’m laughing with him because he’s so pleased with himself. His laughter is contagious, and maybe that’s how I knew I was broken. Because not even his laugh had brought me back to this space. But I’m here now, and I intend to make the most of it.

Tonight feels like a good day. Me, Jae, the red On-Air light blinking at us.

“Kitty Kat, my Kitty Kat,” Jae says after he mutes our mics and puts on the dreamy trance mix I prepared for our show. “I missed you. Like legit missed you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” I remind him.

We all went out the other night, Sungjin and his roommates, me and Ayeon. Jimin. Huiryong and Sungjin are still weird around each other, and that’s probably how it will be like for a while. I asked her if there was anything I could do, but Huiryong just told me to have fun. And that we, with Ayeon, should go out again soon. I just want to hang out with everyone all the time again. Just like before.

I owned up to my mistakes, and I admitted to my wrongs. I hurt the people around me too. Just because I have this in my head does not excuse my behavior. I have to do better. The night was terrifying, and so many times I wanted to flee, but Sungjin’s presence kept me grounded. Besides, he didn’t make me practice what I was supposed to say for nothing. So I said what I had to say and the air is clear.

“You did, though,” Jae replies softly. "Kind of. In a manner of speaking.”

In a manner of speaking, Jae is correct. “I guess I did. I’m sorry.” I apologised to him a little extra, too. I was a lousy friend. “But I’m here now. And I missed this.”

Jae is leaning back in his seat, tipping it as far back as his weight can take him. Which is still not a lot, this string bean. What am I going to do with this guy? “Just this?”

I laugh. “I missed you too, Jae.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” He gasps, clutching at his chest. “Words I never thought I’d ever hear! You’ve gone soft, Kitty. Are you sure you’re really Kitty?”

I ignore him and continue working on my songwriting. Because I’m feeling lighter, and because I’m removed from the situation, I’m able to look at my pain from a different perspective. Writing about sadness is easy. Writing pain is easy. Everyone knows pain. Everyone can relate to pain. It’s so easy to hurt people. But writing about hope? That’s difficult. Writing about happiness? It feels like an even greater challenge. To write about pain but still make it about hope—it feels both within grasp but at the same time unattainable. But my choices will intimately be mine, and I have to choose joy. Because in this world of unending grief, I have to hold on to something.

My life isn’t going to change at once, I know. But little by little, I know if I keep doing what I love, things will always have a chance to be better.

I have to believe in joy.

Be who you are and say how you feel—it’s so simple but at the same time not.

“When I finish this song, do you think you guys be willing to record it for me? It feels more like the kind of song for a band than…well, my usual.”

Jae’s eyes grow twice their size. “It would be my honour. And I know the rest of the band will feel the same way. Also as your friend, you really need to get that done you know. Like, real soon.”

I laugh again. Because Jae is _such_ a stellar example of the model student. “I know. I’m almost done. And then we can go record the thing, that’s the easiest part.” The hard parts will be me in production and reporting to Professor Park, and seeing the annoyed look on Sungjin’s face when I say I don’t want to work with him anymore. I’ve already told him before, but I keep having to say it again.

“I can’t believe you’re coming to my band for help now.”

I shake my head at him and continue to a fresh page on my notebook. “Yeah, yeah. I was wrong about your band. I’m sorry. You guys are amazing. Honest to goodness truth.” I still can’t believe all this time the band was forming around me. They were getting together in my periphery and I never noticed until it was too late. I think about how Wonpil asked me to go see Dowoon. About how Young K is Brian. About Jae. About Sungjin. Even now it feels unreal.

Jae looks pleased. “Thank you, kindly. See, this is why you should listen to me. I was right about Bob, too.”

“Yeah, you were.” It was only a matter of time before Jae brings this up again, and of course now is the time. “You were right about your bandmate Bob. Your brother from another mother, Bob.”

“He’s good for you.”

“He is. Even if you set us up for your own gain,” I tease. “I mean, you wanted him to get over his ex. Which so happened to be my roommate, just by the way. This is all very complicated.”

Jae laughs, covering his mouth his hand. “How was I supposed to know that? We barely met Huiryong. And for the record, since we’re being all honest and soft and emo now, can I just say, I set you up because I was like, Bro, you need to start dating again, and he was like whatever I’ll find someone interesting enough, and I was like dude you gotta, and then some time later he was like staring at you? Like not in the creepy sense. Like we were hanging out and then we said bye and then he did a double take and then he was looking at you, like he recognized you, probably from when you were still spinning at clubs and things, and he’s like you know her? And I’m like bro, Kitty and I are tight. And that’s when I realized Bob has the cutest crush on you. Hence, Project BobKat commenced.”

“What?” I’ve long given up on fully understanding the entirety and breadth of Jae’s mind and influence. Sometimes I think it’s the allergy meds making him loopy since he has to take them all the time at the studio, but maybe this really is just him. Jae, in all his glory.

I try not to think about Sungjin’s crush on me. I’ll deal with that later.

“Yeah, he keeps trying to lowkey make me talk about you, and I’m like. Yo, my friend. This girl is something special. You gotta be careful Extra Careful. Don’t be creepy. Not that I had any doubts re Sungjin’s character. It’s just that, you’re fragile. But then like, things got busy and I couldn’t, you know, do anything because at that time you were…not good. So I left it alone. But then you came back to radio and I thought heck yeah this is my chance, but Brian set him up on some date. It was a mess.”

“It was a mess. And yet I still ended up here with you all like this.”

“Told ya,” he says, tipping his imaginary hat at me. “Destiny. Fate. The Movement of the Cosmos. You owe me a milkshake.”

“I do owe you a milkshake. Let me take you out to breakfast.”

I can’t remember how many times I promised him breakfast, but this time it’s for real. And because Jae wants us to hang out all the time, Sungjin is with us. So early in the morning. I don’t even know anymore. He said he stayed up to listen to our program, but he probably stayed up because he’s still catching up with his classes and everything else Professor Park requires of him.

“Are you done with your songs?” Sungjin asks. He’s seated next to me in the booth, doing that thing with his cap, and his hair, and his hands.

“You’re not allowed to ask me that question,” I answer, poking him with the eraser end of my pencil. I’m noting down random ideas as I get them. I might not know when or when I’ll get to use them, but doing this feels productive. And feeling productive is helpful.

“You guys are so cute,” Jae squeals, propping his chin over his hands. “But like, tone it down because we are in public. Don’t be giving everyone on this planet relationship envy. Some of us have to live here, you know. Next time, you’ll be going out on double dates with Bri and Ayeon, and you’re gonna abandon me. Traitors, all of you.” The cafe is barely populated, but trust Jae to over exaggerate.

Sungjin isn’t even paying attention to Jae anymore. He’s trying to peek into my notebook to look at my lyrics. “Stop it,” I swat him lightly on the arm. “I’m not writing you love songs.”

“You’re not writing me love songs _now_? Or ever?”

I elbow Sungjin away, but he just catches my arm and puts me back in place on the booth. “I’ll send you the demo when I finish! I said I’m asking you guys to do the instrumentals.”

“Are you singing?” Sungjin asks.

Jae lights up too. “Yeah, we didn’t get to that part yet.”

“I don’t have to,” I tell them. I nod at Jae. “You can do it.”

The pancakes and waffles arrive with Jae’s extra thick strawberry milkshake and our coffees. I have decided to sing for half the EP and have Jae and Wonpil on the other tracks. Not Sungjin, I don’t think I can be critical or objective when it comes to him. Maybe someday we can work together, but now is not that day.

“Right, just leave me out the process,” Sungjin mumbles, pouring the lightest drizzle of syrup over his waffles. I just imagined him with a pot of honey. Like a bear.

“Don’t be a baby,” I chide. “My whole aesthetic is summer and liminal spaces and _becoming_. It’s a very specific vision.” And it’s driving me crazy, but when will my head be filled with this much ideas ever again? I have to make it last for as long as I can.

Jae takes a determined sip of milkshake then goes, “Yeah, Sungjin, don’t be like that.”

Jae probably won’t be this happy about it when he finds out I’m making him sing with Wonpil for that one song, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I can’t wait to tell Wonpil, he’ll be so excited. I hope they don’t end up strangling each other in the booth. Maybe I _should_ schedule them to record vocals separately.

“When are you meeting with Professor Park?” Sungjin asks. “Not that I’m involved or anything. I’m just curious. He hasn’t mentioned you to me at all.”

“Does he always mention me?”

“He asks about you. You know you’re one of his favorite students.”

I scrunch my face at the thought. “That’s because he’s looking for talents. I think he’s building some kind of vanity indie label. You guys should audition.”

“We should all audition,” Jae says before pushing a forkful of pancakes in his mouth. Before coming here to the cafe, I was worried Jae might fall asleep on the way, but he’s wide awake still.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know if that’s the future I want.” Music, definitely. But I don’t know what direction to take just yet.

“That’s okay,” Sungjin says. “You have time to think about that. You’re not going to run out of futures just because everyone else is in a hurry to grab theirs. Some things take more time than others.”

It’s a comforting thought, and it calms me down enough to not worry about a future.

 

***

 

“I used to think having roommates was convenient but now I’ve changed my mind,” Sungjin says. Somehow, the unspoken agreement is I’m probably never going to see the inside of their house ever again. Not after the last time. It’s too risky. There’s too many of them.

He is sitting against my headboard, and I’m cuddled up next to him with my laptop balanced on my knees. Not that it was a calculated walk, but we took the long way back home so when we arrived Ayeon and Huiryong have already left for their daily responsible lives. I try not to think about what will happen when we all inevitably run into each other in here. It’s a little too much to think about. For now, this is nice. This is everything.

I send an email to Professor Park detailing my progress. “Do you want to move on to our next lesson or do you want to just watch a movie or something?”

“Next lesson already?” he asks. “Or are we doing that theory homework I’m supposed to be doing. Or should you be working on your EP? Radio stuff?”

“Oh, yeah. The thing Professor Park wants you to do. That one. That’s not so hard.” I look up at him and he drops a kiss between my eyes. “We can do that later.”

He pretends to look scandalised when I put my laptop away and climb onto his lap. I like it here the best. It feels safe. Safe because he can hold me, and safe because I feel like I’m still in control and I get to say what happens and how fast. I can even leave if I want to. But I’ve never had to be afraid.

Sungjin shakes my hair out of my ponytail and I close my eyes as he runs his fingers through my hair. I curl up into his chest and _just breathe_. There’s nowhere else we need to be, and nothing else we need to do. We can just sleep.

“What is it?” I ask him. I don’t know why I get the sense he has something on his mind, but I do.

“It’s nothing. I don’t mean to rush you or anything.”

I lift my head.

“I’m talking about Dr. Choi,” he explains, lightly flicking my forehead. “Not…anything else. I was just thinking about what else should be on our schedule.”

“I’ll email her office later,” I say, even though I don’t know if I really will. I know I should, but now that it’s happening suddenly I’m anxious again.

Sungjin just nods. “I’m really not rushing anything.”

“I know.” Not this…or _that_. “I know you’re not.” But my fingers find the buttons of his shirt, the dark green one, and I unbutton the first one. I glance up, and he’s just watching me with curious eyes. I undo the next button. Then the next. And then Sungjin helps me pull it over his head. Now he’s left in just a white shirt and he’s even warmer now when feel him under my palms.

“You’re warm.”

He just smiles and kisses me. For now that is enough.


	30. Chapter 30

When I peek into Professor Park’s office Friday morning, Sungjin is in there with him sitting at the other side of the desk smiling like he did something and he’s very proud of himself. Professor Park looks happy as well, he’s relaxing in his office chair and his legs are crossed. Looks like we’re off to a good start.

“There you are, perfect timing,” the professor says to me, gesturing at me to step inside. “I was looking forward to today.”

Hesitantly, I walk inside. Sungjin and I are supposed to meet after this—both of us deciding not to talk about the EP or anything about the professor or his class. Too complicated. I think I’m going to have to reword our rules for that. “I have a sound report. Ish. I’m halfway there.”

Three new original songs, written and produced by me (with some performance help from Jae). Six demos done. One song mastered. Two more in production. And three more to go. I’ve already scheduled studio time with the boys and sent them the demos and the sheet music. I’m a nervous wreck, but Wonpil has been the most supportive friend ever. I surmise it’s because I’m making him sing with Jae for that summer EDM anthem. It’s going to be wild. I’m not even worried. Nervous, but not the kind that paralyses me in fear. I’m excited to work with them.

“Good, good.” Professor Park waves at the seat across Sungjin. “Have a seat. I can’t wait to hear it. You look like you’re doing well.”

Just hearing the professor say that cracks something open inside me. _I’m doing well_. I’m okay. Tears sting my eyes, but they’re the good kind. To hear my mentor say this, even if he just means I don’t _look_ like a mess means more than I can ever explain. In his eyes I see confidence and hope, and I believe him now when he says I can be so much more. Because I believe I can be. Because now I realize my brain has been lying to me all along, letting me sink into an endless loop of self-loathing. A feeling swells in my chest, making it hard to breathe. My throat catches and my fingers shake.

_I’m doing well._

_I am okay._

Discreetly, I blink the nearly there tears away and slide my bag off my back.

“Hey,” Sungjin says, eyes saying everything he needs to say. He’s wearing that charcoal plaid shirt over a white shirt and he just looks so good. It’s very stressful. Even after all this time, he still stresses me out. And in the most inappropriate time and place.

 _Don’t be making eyes at me, Professor Park is right there._ I glance nervously at him. “Does he have to be here?”

Professor Park laughs. “Your choice.”

"Okay. Please wait for me outside."

“You’re kicking me out?” Sungjin gasps, half standing up from his seat.

“Yes.” I playfully kick at his sneakers. “Go away. Wait for me outside.”

He makes a petulant face at me. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” I jerk my head toward the door. “Go.”

Muttering under his breath, he picks up his belongings. As he passes by me, he leans just a fraction closer, tilts his head just a fraction more so only I can see him, and he _smirks_. My eyes flit toward the professor who is busy checking his laptop screen. After another second of Sungjin’s brazen flirting, he leaves, shutting the door gently behind him. When he’s gone, Professor Park just looks at me, amused. _He knows_. He knows everything. How long has he known? Did he know this was going to happen? Is this an okay thing?

Okay, relax.

I take a breath and sit down. “It’s really nothing revolutionary,” I say, but I catch myself mid-way to apologising. Ayeon says I should only apologise when I do something wrong or hurt someone’s feelings, never for being myself or liking the things I like. “I mean, I’m writing about summer and feeling lonely during a time that’s often associated with freedom from responsibilities like school and things, but hopefully in a way that sounds like accepting that life is just like that sometimes—maybe you should just listen to it.”

I hand him my hard drive and every move, from him reaching out for it, to plugging the drive into his computer, and navigating through the files is excruciatingly slow and painful. Not even Sungjin has heard these songs. No one has, apart from me.

Professor Park hits play on the first track, and a soft and light guitar melody fills the room, it’s very much head in the clouds—because it’s Jae—and it’s followed by a steady beat and synths like the tide rushing to kiss the shore. But the words are cutting, harsh like the summer sun beating down on all of creation. The track ends in a fadeaway, an echoing of the initial rise in the chorus.

Professor Park nods pensively to himself. “It’s different.”

I’m on the edge of a cliff poised to jump into the ocean.

The professor’s brows are drawn together in concentration, and his lips are pressed in a tight line. He taps his fingers in a quadrille on his desk. Then he smiles and nods again, smiling to himself. “I hear it,” he says, “I hear you. Thank you. Music should be honest. Do not make art just to fit in. Art should be sincere. If there is no joy in what you are doing, your art becomes a forgery that fools yourself most of all. Thank you for being honest in your music. You know you’re good at the technical stuff, but _this_ is what I’ve always been hoping for. To hear _you._ For your voice to touch people’s hearts. This is good work. I don’t need to listen to the rest. I’m looking forward to the final product.”

I nod.

I don’t know what else to do or say—if I should even do or say anything at all. My heart feels like it dived off a cliff and soared in the air and landed safely in the cool turquoise ocean. I feel alive. Glad to be alive. It’s more than just a giddy rush.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“There is one more thing.” He pulls up another track. Not mine. “I received this song some time ago when I sent out a call for submissions. Something about it has been bothering me since I listened to it. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until recently I had an epiphany while reviewing your work.”

Something nebulous swirls in my gut.

“Is the name Jung Joonyoung familiar to you?”

Like lead my stomach drops to the ground. How do I even explain Joonyoung? “Yes. We were…I…I know him.”

“Enough to write music with him? Share your work?” He plays the first minute of _The Brightest Part of the Summer_. “This one, in particular. I can hear you in this song. That unexplainable feeling—a sense of desiderata.”

Desiderata. A deep, ardent longing for something.

“And it’s not just the feeling. It’s this, too.” He isolates a layer in the song, and my past comes back to haunt me. “This is the same exact template you’ve been sending me this semester. Sungjin confirmed it. What I want to know is if you know why you’re not being credited in this song.”

I just shrug. Even now, I still don’t know how I feel about it. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t want to have anything to do with that song or Joonyoung. “It’s just that way.”

“I see,” he says, pausing the track. “Did you know he sent this to me?”

“I wrote it for him,” I admit. In that same sentence it hits me why I’m reluctant to write about Sungjin, too. At least specifically about him and to him. It’s not because I’m afraid he’ll take my songs and claim them as his own. But that the song would be a snapshot of our time together, and it feels like a sure way to end things before they’ve even truly begun.

“But _you_ wrote it, then?”

I nod. “He helped.”

Professor Park looks at me like he can tell I’m lying. Or, at the very least, not telling the complete truth. “I see. I think that would be all. Thank you for seeing me today.” His words are final, the way he says it tells me there will be consequences.

Something glues me to my seat, and I’m reluctant to leave. “Thank you for seeing me, too.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I decided to go see Dr. Choi.” Maybe if I keep telling people that, I’ll actually get around to doing it. Accountability and everything.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Thank you for giving me another chance.”

“Everyone deserves another chance.”

My fingers curl into my palms again. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Professor Park taps at my hard drive as he returns it to me. “You haven’t given me reason to give up on you. Ask your boyfriend, he’ll say the same thing. Now go before he starts growing roots out there.”

I thank him one last time and leave.

For the first time in a long while I’m thinking: More than making Professor Park proud of me, I will do everything I can so _I_ can be proud of me.

 

***

 

Why have I never thought of taking Sungjin’s shirt off before? Now I understand why cats bask under the sun. It’s just so warm and perfect and _so good_. I’m thinking about losing mine, too. Sungjin’s hands have found their way under the hem of all my layers—figuratively and literally—and I hope he’s thinking about the same too. I hope he understands that he can do it if he wants to. I just can’t say it out loud because I’m too busy kissing him and it’s too good and I don’t want to stop.

There is no music that can recreate the pounding of my heart or the heated caresses of his lips against my mouth. No words that could possibly express the way his rough fingertips ghosting on my skin feel like the way supernovas look like when they burst in the infinite universe. His fingers explore just a bit higher, and I’m afraid he intends to do this one torturous centimetre at a time and quite frankly he’s taking too long. I raise my arms over my head and hit them against the bottom of Wonpil’s bunk.

“Careful,” he chuckles, pulling his hands away from under my sweatshirt and taking me by the wrists. I refuse to get off him, so I just push him back against his headboard. “What are you doing?”

Good question. What _am_ I doing? I don’t know. Or maybe I know exactly what I want to be doing, but not how to go about doing it. I have no idea what his past in this department is like, but it doesn’t really matter and I don’t want to think about him with anybody else.

Right now just feels right.

With him feels right.

“Nobody’s coming back soon, right?” I ask.

“Wait. Let me check.” Sungjin reaches for his phone which is on the floor where it fell on top of his shirts. I don’t want to but I have to, so reluctantly I climb off him so he can check for his messages. I do the same and check my phone, but it’s just Jae and Ayeon reminding me that we’re going to the club tonight because tomorrow is Dowoon’s birthday and we’re getting people drunk at exactly midnight tonight. Which is always fun because Sungjin never gets drunk, Wonpil and Jae don’t need much to get their buzz going, and Brian and Ayeon are going to magically disappear, and happy birthday Dowoon, I guess?

“You didn’t secretly put GPS trackers on them, did you?” I joke.

“I wish,” he says, tossing his phone back on top of his soft pile of clothes. “Where were we?” He grabs a fistful of my sweatshirt and pulls me into him.

I try to get back onto his lap, but Sungjin lays me down next to him. There’s not much space on his single bed, and it takes some adjusting, some tangling of limbs, but then it’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

“Are we good?” he asks, deep and breathy.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Then he slips his hands under my clothes and slowly, _slowly,_ pulls my all my layers over my head. “Still good?”

“Very good.” I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him down for a kiss. His hair is so soft, so _so_ very soft and I don’t know how I will ever stop touching running my fingers through them.

“I should get a haircut,” he mutters, gliding his lips down my cheek. “My hair is getting long.”

“It’s just right.”

“Maybe I should shave my head.”

I imagine what he would look like if he does that. All that hair away from his eyes, showing off his strong forehead, making him look like he could be bad for you. “Don’t.”

His kisses travel down my collarbones. “Why, do you think I’ll look bad?”

“No. You’ll look too good and what am I supposed to do about that? I feel like I’ll need to take drastic measures to make sure you don’t have a flock of admirers screaming after you. Plus, you forget you play guitar and your voice sounds like it can solve the global climate crisis. That’s like everyone’s fantasy. I don’t need you looking like someone’s fantasy come to life.”

He laughs into my throat, and it should tickle but it doesn’t. It affects me in an entirely different way. “You know I’ll still choose you, right? It will always be you. It’s just you. I think I’m going crazy how much I want you.”

“I feel like I should say something cheesy like you are the music in me.” I say it like a joke but it’s true.

He nips at my lips as if that’s punishment. “I’m serious.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I am, too. I figured out why I’m not writing songs about you.”

“I’m too good looking for words?”

“Ha-ha.” Maybe. “It’s because I’d rather be with you than write about you. I’d rather have you all for myself than let the world know how you make me feel. You’re _my_ song. Mine. I don’t like sharing you.”

The most self-satisfied smirk works its way on his lips and I’m lost in his eyes. Just completely knocked down. His hot skin and his delicious scent overwhelms me beyond any saving. “I love you, Miho.”

“You are unbelievable. I love you, too.”


	31. Chapter 31

Jae is a funny drunk because he’s not actually drunk. He just acts like he is when all he’s had is a sip of beer and a bunch of breadsticks. Where he even got the breadsticks, I don’t ask. I don’t want to know. But he’s off telling some story about how he was skateboarding while filming around campus the other day when he ran into Sammy Kim who is also in a band who is friends with Matthew Kim from the basketball varsity team and how they are now the best of friends. According to him, they now have regular basketball dates.

“You all think I’m a nerd, but the truth is I’m a jock on the inside,” he says with a flourish. “I just don’t look like it, but I’m totally hottie material. I’m a very multi-faceted individual.”

Jamie just snorts and rolls her eyes. “I once watched you pick a fight with a lawn chair and you lost that round. Like, by a league. Leagues, in the plural.”

We’re at Catharsis again, and it feels like a brand new experience. Stepping in with all the trepidation and moving on from it is a victory in itself. It’s been long enough. Sungjin is sitting next to me, by some miracle (and mine and Ayeon’s combined contacts) we’ve found a booth and have been spending the better part of waiting for Dowoon’s birthday getting drunk on each other’s company. The alcohol, not so much. Perhaps in another hour, give or take. And then it’s pandemonium. At least Sungjin’s around to make sure no one falls into a ditch on the way home.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Sungjin.

“What do you mean?” he replies innocently.

“You’re looking at me like something.” Besides Brian coming home earlier than he was supposed to and thus interrupting cuddle-time, nothing else out of the ordinary happened. But he’s looking at me all weird. Not necessarily a bad weird. Just weird.

"I'm really not?”

“You are, though.” Brian’s head pops in from Sungjin’s other side as he reaches for the basket of fries on the table. “What were you guys doing when I got back anyway?”

Sungjin swats Brian away, but Brian just smoothly evades Sungjin’s attack and grins annoyingly at us. “None of your business,” Sungjin says, gruffly.

Brian’s grin just gets even more annoying—endearing, but still annoying. “Oh, I see. That’s what you were doing. That’s why you’re in a mood, I see.”

Sungjin scowls at his friend but I’m just laughing at them now. We can’t miss Dowoon’s birthday party. Besides, there’s always tomorrow and the next day and the next day, we’re not going to run out of days.

Jae’s still not done with his story, though I’m not even sure who’s listening still. Ayeon and Dowoon are talking about something at the other end of the booth. Brian is busy eating. Wonpil is saying something in response to Jae, I think, but it has nothing to do with Jae’s topic. I think. Wonpil also keeps leaning in and touching Jae and clinging to his arm, and Jae just keeps pushing him away and finding ways to extricate himself from Wonpil. It’s going to be a long night.

When I grab a beer, I feel that weird look from Sungjin again. I get it now. I take a long drag. “Are you worried I’ll end up too drunk for my own good again?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Would it fair to say I’m not emotionally compromised tonight and am thus capable of making wise drinking decisions?” It feels like an argument I don’t want to have. Sungjin can get overbearing when he doesn’t realize it. He means well, but even that can go wrong so easily. It’s a problem because he wants—he _needs_ —to be needed, and when I’m having my Good Days, I might not need him in a way he wants to be.

That’s a problem.

“You’re right,” he says after a beat. He picks up his bottle and takes a careful sip.

“Also you’re right here. What’s going to happen?”

He makes a face, but it’s the _Fine, you have a point_ face so we’re okay. He’s so tense, though. I know this isn’t his crowd, and he’s usually just dragged around because he feels morally obligated to be the responsible one by virtue of being Like That. I lean back to catch Brian’s gaze behind’s Sungjin’s head. We share a meaningful glance, and Brian’s off in charge of keeping Sungjin distracted. At least until Ayeon decides she’s had enough socialising for the night and spends the rest of it with her boyfriend.

But this is my crowd, from a certain perspective. My fingers itch to do something. Anything. This music…the DJ is terrible. I catch Ayeon’s eyes from across the table. And she grins immediately.

“We’re gonna be right back,” I announce.

Ayeon and I don’t wait for any questions and we don’t linger long enough to even explain anything. We hurry to the back, where we know the floor manager hangs out. I want to spin tonight. Even just for a little while. There’s no set program—I hope there’s a slot for me.

We’re not the only ones with the same idea. Someone else is here, too.

Joonyoung is waiting outside the small office, hands in his pocket and leaning against the wall. He sees me, and it’s not just recognition that lights up in his eyes. “Hey,” he says over the music.

Ayeon’s hand curves around my arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No, wait,” Joonyoung says, pushing himself off the wall. “Can we talk? Outside?”

The music is loud in my ears, but my heart is pounding louder. In his eyes I see he really wants to have this conversation. It’s probably the only one we’ll ever have in a long while. Probably ever. He won’t be the type to seek me out, and I won’t ever go find him after this.

Ayeon’s hand squeezes me tighter. ”Let’s go, come on. We’ll come back later.”

“Okay,” I say to Joonyoung. “Let’s talk.” I turn to Ayeon, “I’ll be okay. I have to do this.”

Ayeon doesn’t look too sure, but she just presses her lips together and nods. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll make something up. But if you’re not back by then, I’m sending out a search party.” The last part she says more as a threat to Joonyoung than to me.

I follow Joonyoung outside to the curb a little ways down the street next to the public parking lot. How many times have we done this in the past? I can’t remember. I can’t even remember what it feels like anymore. All there is a blank space, a dull thud in my chest where our memories used to be.

“What the hell did you say to Park Jinyoung?” This is the first thing he says to me. He runs his hand frustratedly through his hair. When he does it, it just is. Nothing. He takes another breath. “I wanted to talk to you about this before, but you didn’t let me.”

Did he really expect me to just hear him out after everything that he did? After he blatantly claimed my song as his own? In front of me? On my own radio show? I want to say something like: You could have called me. Or, you could have literally said more than two words than didn’t sound like it was my fault. Literally anything else.

Not only did he invalidate everything that I felt, he robbed me of what good work I had left in me. None of which I can take back anymore. Those melodies and those turns of phrase, they’ve been brought out there in the world and the don’t belong to me anymore. There is no way I can retroactively take them for myself and say these words are mine, this music is mine. All because Joonyoung had already sang it his way. People will remember his voice from now on. They’ll think of him when they hear the song or relate a feeling to the song. It’s all so unfair.

“I didn’t say anything. What are you talking about?”

“He’s accusing me of plagiarism.”

“Didn’t you?” I’m not in the mood to play nice or draw this out longer than necessary. I just want to get this done and over with so I can go back to my friends and enjoy the rest of the night. Maybe I can even sneak in some more alone time with my boyfriend.

“It’s my song, too. We wrote it together.” At least he doesn’t deny what this is about.

“Okay.” The humidity prickles the back of my neck. It’s too hot here. There’s a chicken and beer place off to the side and maybe that’s why. Also, how dare he claim to have written any part of that song. I’ve been rewriting his lyrics and arrangements for so long, not once did I get any thanks for that much work. Now he probably wants to make it look like I’m the one who’ll benefit from him when I don’t even want to collaborate with him. I don’t want to write about breakup songs, for one thing. I don’t want to just write about pain. No offence to Brian, but this and that are two different things.

“So talk to him,” he says, “Tell him we wrote it together."

I shrug. I really don’t want to. I don’t want my name on that song. I don’t even want to hear it or of it anymore. When I told the others about it, they took it off our playlists and swore to never breathe about it. As far as we’re concerned, it doesn’t exist and Jung Joonyoung and his songs are never setting foot at the station.

“He’s setting up an indie label.” He says this like it means something to me. As if he means anything to me. “I can’t get in if I look bad.”

“You have other songs.”

He takes a step closer and it takes all my strength not to back away. “Look, I know we had a bit of a misunderstanding in the past.”

“It’s fine, I’m over it.”

“That’s good, so am I.”

You’re over what? I want to ask. I’ve done nothing but be good to him. I was exactly what he needed and only when it was convenient for him. “Okay. So you don’t need me anymore.”

“And maybe you’re doing this as revenge.”

“What?” How dare he?

“You don’t understand.”

“Just write another song?” But it’s too late because Professor Park will doubt every one of his songs now. He’ll make sure to check and double check. Maybe there will even be whispers about him. Or if not, then at least he’ll have to go through the process on his merits alone. And that is never a bad thing.

“What would it take to convince you?”

 _Nothing. You can’t._ “You’ll be fine.” I say it, but I only half-mean it. “You don’t need me. Just write another song and see where that takes you. I’m sure you’re not going to run out of gritty hardcore feelings or whatever.”

I step back. All that time we spent together means nothing now. Maybe it never meant anything to begin with.

“Wait.”

I’m done waiting. “Good luck.” I turn and leave.

Sungjin is outside the club, waiting for me by the entrance. His cap is pulled low on his face so I can’t see him until I walk closer, but his body language is easy enough to read. Ayeon might not have said anything, but just the fact that I didn’t return with her must have alarmed him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go and save the day. Night. Whatever,” I say as soon as I’m close enough.

“You could handle it.” But his voice is strained.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long enough.”

We stand about an arm’s length away from each other. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t appear to want to go back inside just yet. He simply stands there with eyes that are conflicted about so many things.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s officially gone from my life. He’s not the type for confrontation either, so I don’t think he’ll do anything else but sulk for a bit. That might be good for his music. So I guess until now I’m still doing him favors—what is it?”

He lifts his head to look at me straight on. “I’m trying so much not to worry too much about you and it’s hard.”

“Who told you?”

“Everybody.”

I laugh. “When?”

“All the time. Just now, Ayeon was telling me off because she said I needed to let you do your own thing. She said there’s such a thing as too much, and too much of anything is always extra bad for you.”

Ayeon is not wrong. We’ve always just focused on me, we didn’t have time to even focus on him. But that changes now. “We’ll work on that? Isn’t that what this is about too?”

“Am I too much?”

Something Huiryong said before echoes in my mind. “I’ll tell you when you are, how about that?”

“That seems fair. We’ll figure out how this works, right?”

I nod and take another step to him. “That’s how it works, I think. I’ve never really been with anyone like this.”

He nods, too. “Okay. That's fair. Are you okay?”

“I am.” Joonyoung doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing else matters but this. “We should get back before Ayeon sends out a real search party.”

Also it’s Dowoon’s birthday. The whole idea is to get _him_ drunk for science. I'm not going to miss that for anything.


	32. Chapter 32

This only ends two ways, and both involve Jae and Wonpil on the floor.

“Maybe I should have scheduled them separately,” I say to Sungjin who barely glances up from his listening exercises.

For the past hour, Jae and Wonpil have been—I want to say bickering but it’s more like Wonpil, in his specific way, has been aggressively bombarding Jae with emotions and Jae, because he’s Jae, has been yelling and making the most of his so-called jock agility. Jae must know that the only reason Wonpil keeps annoying him is because Jae keeps getting annoyed. Not that knowing makes this any easier on him. If anything, it just spurs Wonpil on more.Brian is lying down on the floor and Dowoon is diligently taking notes on the skin on his snare.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

The answer hits me in the face when I hit play and Jae and Wonpil’s voices blend together into the perfect summer match. When I close my eyes, I see night drives with the windows down and music blasting from the speakers. It’s lights blinking in the distance and you can’t tell whether they are stars or streetlights, but it doesn’t matter. It’s breathing in the hot humid air and filling your lungs with the present. Nothing else matters but the here and now.

 

 

> _You’re a wild child running on bright lights_
> 
> _The only one who can make me feel alive_
> 
> _We’ll make it there where nobody knows our names_
> 
> _Goodbye to safe and sound your favourite pastime_

 

“Do you want to go on a convenience store run?” Sungjin asks, pushing his headphones down to his neck. “That’s going to take a while.” Yet there is fondness in his eyes. He’s soft on these boys, he just doesn’t want to admit it. Sure, he was stuck with them for reasons only the universe knows why but the world is a better place because they are together.

My world is a brighter place because they are together.

“Sure. Do you want to bring that one with you?” I toss my head at Brian who’s busy on his phone. I tidy up my workstation just so it doesn’t look like a big mess. Their garage studio is already a big mess. I can’t work here.

“No,” Sungjin says, putting his laptop away.

We walk in silence for about five minutes, letting the summer heat warm the chill on our skin from inside the air-conditioned studio. I rub my hands for warmth. Sungjin doesn’t like to hold hands, but he makes up for it when we’re alone. He just looks at me funny because I’m trying to make a point here and he knows I know he knows.

“You should breathe on your palms to make them warm up faster,” he teases.

“You’re funny,” I shoot back, “See if you like cold hands _later_.”

His brows go up, almost disappearing into his snapback. I like this look. The tee. The backwards snapback. Summer is a good look on Sungjin. “Then I’ll warm them up later.”

I smile and follow after him to the store.

 

***

 

It’s closer to sunrise than it is to midnight, but Sungjin still hasn’t gone home. I’m in his music lab, working on a few things all at the same time. My EP, a new mix for radio, a mixtape that may or may not see the light of day. I’m so packed with ideas, I can’t work fast enough to get through them all. But my priority is to submit my project before I lose this bout of productivity. Everything leads to there, so when I crash I have nothing hanging on my shoulders. When it gets Bad again, I won’t be disappointing anyone else but myself.

My head feels like it’s about to explode. I have so many ideas in my head, they feel like a thousand dragonflies rushing to get out—or like dragonflies fluttering aggressively around my head, each one an idea, and if I don’t catch them all I’ll lose them and have nothing. As if inspiration is something I need to chase because it will not be patient and wait for me to be ready. If I don’t work on them now, they’ll just find someone else to bother, someone else who will make time for them. Someone who can drop everything for them, or someone who can handle all the thing all at the same time. I don’t know which one I am. But I now if inspiration goes, I will be left with nothing.

I’m terrified of running out again. Of feeling empty.

I massage my temples with my fingers.

“Take a break,” Sungjin says. Then my chair is rolling backwards, with me in it, and Sungjin is lifting me off the chair and into his lap so now we’re both on the couch. “You need a break.”

“I have to keep working.” Reluctantly, I try to move away from his arms, but he cages meagainst his chest and now we’re lying down and my head feels heavy. I can’t stop thinking about that last verse, if I should fadeaway or cut it abruptly or—

“No, you need to take a break,” he gently scolds, rubbing my back in slow circles. “You’ve been working all day and all night.”

“This is why I said you don’t have to be here.” But I sink deeper into his embrace anyway. Even though I said I don’t want to work with him, I let him hang around me anyway. He promised not to interfere and do his own work silently. Which he has been doing a wonderful job of. And then there are these moments when he reminds me I need to rest, too. My eyelids are too heavy and I can barely keep them open.

“You’re not going to run out of music and lyrics,” he promises. “They will still be there tomorrow. Music scores all have rests in them. You should too.”

“Fine. Okay,” I mumble. “Musical rests it is.”

I sigh into him and slowly, every so slowly, I feel myself drift off to sleep.

 

***

 

The end of summer feels different.

It’s not the end yet but it feels close. It’s the slight nip in the air. Not quite, but sometimes when I’m not paying attention I feel a wisp of cold that’s gone before I can think back if I really felt it at all. But it’s there. It’s there the way I know tomorrow will still be there no matter what today is like.

I step out of the main building and lift my face toward the mid-morning sun, letting the bright rays warm my face, my everything. Mornings and I have always had this weird relationship—I’ve always had a weird relationship with the sun—either I’m just about stumbling out beyond my wits eager to close the blinds and get to bed, or I’m feeling a weird sense of possibility because today I woke up not thinking, _Fuck, I’m still alive._

Many times I forget how to be a person. I’ve gone from a breaking things kind of mood,to reliving my worst days, to needing a shoulder to cry on, and to breathing in the night because the daylight suffocates me. But I realize each moment of my life is a musical note, and all I need to do is arrange the do-re-mis to create the song I think I thought I knew. But it’s when I think I know who I am is that exact moment I realize I know nothing. But that’s okay. Because a song is never perfect the first time. That’s why you have to build it note by note, instrument by instrument, layer by layer. It’s a heartbreaking process, but this is how a song _becomes_. This is how a person becomes real.

I am in love with the person music brings out of me.

There is music in my soul and that is enough.

Sungin’s smile is brighter than the sun. “Finally,” he says. “It’s about time. Congratulations.”

“I hope he likes it,” I say. I didn’t stay long enough to have Professor Park listen to my songs. I don’t have to. I know what’s in there. It’s a lot of pain—a lot of me crying into my sweater or sniffing into the hems of my sleeves. But there’s also a bright slash of sunlight in the rain.

“I’m sure he will.”

I skip down the stairs and Sungjin catches me in a hug. It’s short-lived, but potent. We walk down the road leading out of campus with our footsteps in sync. Today, I will rest. Today we rest.

“So what do you want to do today?” I ask.

“Do you want to go out on a date?”

“Like what kind of date?”

“Like a movie.”

“How have we not seen a movie together before?”

“Because you’re weird. Or if you like, we can go to the arcade.”

“Okay, I know a music store near here. We can go there too. Look at all the instruments we can’t afford.”

“And then tonight, we can go for a drive.”

“Where to?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. We can just drive around.”

“I like that idea a lot.”

“I like _you_ a lot.”

“Wow. Corny, but effective.”

 

 

> _When your eyes are on me like this_
> 
> _I fall deeper in love_
> 
> _Like that sun_
> 
> _Melt my heart with your smile —Like that Sun (2015), Day6_


	33. Chapter 33

“How was it?” Sungjin asks as I walk into his music lab. It’s the end of the first week of the new semester, and he’s already been drowning in work all week.

“It was not as bad as I thought it would be.” And that is not a lie. I’ve just had my first session with Dr. Choi this fine sunny morning. I just got off radio with Jae three hours ago, and Sungjin and I had breakfast before he went with me to the counsellor’s office. Because that’s our thing now. We have an established routine.

Sungjin is sitting on the swivel chair looking warm and toasty. “That’s good to hear. Come here.”

I glance at the door just in case, but I don’t actually know how much I care about being caught right now. I fall into Sungjin’s lap and give him a quick kiss. “Can I nap here before my class starts?”

“Why do you keep taking morning classes after radio?” he asks, scrunching his nose and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Because I’m most alive after radio.”

“You’re also most alive when you get enough sleep.”

“Hence, the nap.”

“But I can’t nap with you.”

“Don’t be silly, we can nap again.” Naps are amazing. Naps are real world equivalent of a musical rest. Why have I never paid more attention to rests before? Silence is just as important as sound. “Later.”

“Later you’re spinning at Catharsis.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s tonight. Tonight, when your band is also playing.”

“We’re going to be on the same stage. What a thought, huh.”

What a thought, indeed. “There’s also the university festival. And then a few more things we could all do. I can play your songs all night on our show, but you guys live in the flesh is definitely an experience.”

“So are you.”

“Why are you so cheesy, all of a sudden?” I yawn into his hoodie. “Okay. That’s it. I need to sleep. I’m going over there.”

But Sungjin doesn’t let me go. “Then go sleep.”

“Work.”

“I’ll work like this.”

“You’re hopeless.”

 

***

 

In the shadows of the stage, I am the wizard behind the curtain in control of everything. I am the heartbeat. I am the blood pumping in and out the night’s veins. I am the neon lights—magenta bringing in the hot summer nights, and the cyan bringing in the collected loneliness of youth. I am also the strobe, the flash of images burning nostalgia for the past and for what hasn’t happened yet.

No one is paying attention to me because there is only the music. Not even I am paying attention to me. There is only the feeling. Music, raw and vulnerable. Only muscle memory and my fingers knowing their way around the turntables and the MIDI pads. What I’m playing, this airy industrial sound and the sultry torque of synths, is not even something I think about. It just _is._

The mosh pit moves under my command, arms flailing, voices rushing, and feet stomping. This is where I reign. They trash and wail, and I throw them around like I’m the wave and they’re caught in a riptide that rushes them forward in giant rolling waves that crest in bubbling seafoam and white light. After the crash, the music pulls away like the tide from the shore, and all that’s left is a natural disaster of feelings you never thought you could feel before.

Once it’s all over, I join the other back on the floor.

I find Sungjin immediately, push him back away from the crowd. “Hey you.”

He answers with a smirk.

“You want to get out of here?”

In the distance, I hear Jae yelling, "Katherine Jeon! Don't you dare kidnap our guitarist!”

I haven’t heard that name since moving back here almost three years ago. I yell back, “I’ll bring him back!”

“Katherine?” Sungjin asks, amused. He quickly puts everything together. “Katherine. Kitty Kat. That’s your English name?”

“Wait here. I need to go murder Jae for a minute.”

Because this is my life now.

There will be bad days, times when I will forget to breathe in the unending grief of simply existing. But we are not meant to carry pain forever, and we are not meant to hold on to it so tightly. All we have to do is remember to let go. Be calm. Accept the faded echoes with the silence and the sound.

And _breathe_.

 

 


End file.
